


Champion, on Kirkwall Street

by LunarBlade



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Organized Crime, Relationship(s), Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5829751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarBlade/pseuds/LunarBlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris was trying to live as a free man, but it was hard to get a job when your resume is a blank sheet, and your past a topic you’d rather never discuss. So when a store owner in Vancouver’s Kirkwall street gives him a job, he expects little. Certainly doesn’t expect to fall for this man, or the troubles the little immigrant community faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short little ficlet, but my love of these characters has overpowered my good sense and the story is quite long! It is pretty much done, however, so you needn't worry about it going uncompleted. I will be updating at least once a week, so please look forward to it!
> 
> I would like to thank Raineishida for convincing me to play Dragon Age 2, and for reminding me that loving a fandom deeply is something I can still do, and that there are people out there with whom it's ok to admit it to. :D Thanks for the tips about the story, too!  
> This is my first story on AO3, though I've been writing on FF.Net for many years.  
> I hope you all enjoy the journey ahead!
> 
> P.S.  
> The chapter estimate is still an estimate. As the reread the story to post new chapters, I may move/remove/add chapters as needed.

The young man sauntered through the rainy street. The sky was grey, and it reflected in the dark, worn cobblestones of this historic, though neglected, neighborhood. The occasional car splashed noisily by, sputtering puddles in the uneven street. Very few stopped. You had to have a reason to come to this part of town, a forgotten pocket of immigrants and low-income runaways. It smelled vaguely of tobacco and damp earth of the old trees breaking out of their sidewalk prisons. Perhaps years ago they fit in those earthen circles interspersed in the sidewalk, but now they were bursting at the seams, buckling the cobblestones with the patience of decades.

A drop made it past the rim of his hood, dropping squarely on a greek nose. He sneezed, and rubbed his hands inside the front pocket of his hoodie. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore. It wasn’t that cold, just a few degrees above zero, but with only a hoodie and jeans, the humid west-coast chill cut right through him. He glanced at a ‘open’ sign of a store as he passed.

It was called _Champions General Store_ , but the S of Champions had peeled off the awning, and the word General Store was blackened by time to near illegibility. The young man squinted at the old text. Glancing at the window, the place looked empty. Still, the sign on the glass push-door was flipped to ‘Welcome! We’re Open’, so he entered. A tired bell announced his passage.

He pulled his hood off to shake his wet hair and limbs.

“Hey, there!” said the man behind the counter. The wet man hadn’t seen him from the sidewalk, which was surprising since he wasn’t a small man. The man was both tall and bordered on the muscular. The newcomer approached the counter, not replying to the greeting, scanning shelves for something that might interest him. Little did, and fewer things yet he could afford with what was in his pockets. This place had nearly everything. From pet food to guitar strings, drinks and snacks, toys for kids, all packed in a square space marginally larger than the square footage of a bus. Three overburdened shelves were the only aisles and the walls not facing the streets were encumbered with all manner of goods, all cheap. The young man had seen cellars larger than this, and he had seen many cellars.

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” the large man asked.

“Yes, thank you.” the proprietor grabbed a cardboard cup and filled it from a water heater installed behind the counter.

Every inch of the counter and the shelf behind the man was used. A water heater, an electric portable range, papers and nicknacks on the back. A calendar on the wall and two cash registers-- one for transactions and the other for lottery tickets on the front. A pile of newspapers on one end and a bowl of cheap free candy on top of them. There were a few inches of free counter space, and on it the owner put the steeping tea, the string of the bag hanging out of it. Green tea. His favourite. Behind the counter there was a door, an old fuse box decorated with a faded ice-cream advert, then another door. Up close the man seemed even taller. A handsome face framed by shaggy dark hair. Sideburns joined a jaunty beard and a hint of a moustache. An old scar ran from the hill of the nose on one end, across the bridge to the other side, forming a red line, like a splash of colour, bisecting his face. Up close it gave him a bit of a roguish look, or perhaps that was that toothy, lopsided smile. He was wearing a sweater and over it a well-worn apron with the letter C on it. The young man pulled a dollar out of his pocket.

“How much?” he asked.

The owner smiled. “It’s cold out there. On the house.”

“Thank you.”

The young man reached a tattooed hand to grab the cup, noting how the other man’s eyes scanned his exposed skin. His brows raised, which was new, as most people’s brows lowered upon seeing a scruffy tattooed man enter their establishment. The young man wasn’t all that much younger than the man behind the counter, both of them in their mid to late twenties, though perhaps the owner was in his early thirties.

No further conversation seemed to be needed, and he sauntered the aisles, both hands clutching at the mug. He brought it close to his face just to feel the steam warm his frozen nose. Needed or no, the clerk spoke,

“Awful weather out today.”

He received no reply, though he glanced in the man’s direction.

“They don’t call it Raincouver for nothing!”

No reply. He didn’t seem to mind, neither was his voice getting any less cheerful, “Liquid sunshine they call it. They expect this autumn to be wet and calling an even wetter winter!”

He didn’t reply to any of this banter, but his eyes settled on a folded piece of printer paper on the counter that read, in a sloppy handwriting ‘Help Wanted’.

“Is that sign…” he wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence, so he gestured at it with a flick of his chin, not wanting to remove his hands from cup.

With so much clutter, it took the man a few moments to follow the gaze.

“Oh that! Yes, just put up the sign yesterday, actually.”

“What…” he looked down, reforming his sentence, “Can I apply?” he tried instead. He expected outright rejection, but the large man just shrugged.

“I accept only the exceedingly handsome to work here.” he chuckled, then said, “All I need is a resume, really. This isn’t rocket surgery.”

Cracking a half-grin, through expecting to be rebuffed, the shorter man produced a folded, slightly crumbled and definitely damp piece of paper from his pocket and put it on top of the newspapers, beside the candy bowl. The pile shook dangerously, and he steadied it.

“A prepared man! I like that…” His voice trailed off as he unfolded the paper and read aloud,

 _“Fenris. Good at manual labour, quick learner and trustworthy._ ” There was a phone number to call, then “Reference available.” and another phone number followed. The man looked at the other side of the sheet, then back and forth for a moment. “Huh.” He said. He gave the paper back, and the young man, Fenris, shrugged silently.

“You an ex-con?” the large man asked bluntly, his voice still cheery. Fenris gave a start.

“Would it be a problem if I was?” he answered, perhaps more defensively than he intended.

“Not really. It can be rough out there. What did you do?”

“Isn’t that an invasive question?”

“Do you want a job?”

Fenris sighed, some of his reticence fading. This was inevitable and never ended well.

“I killed a man.” he stated matter-of-fact. The owner, in his credit, only blinked twice, no other visible surprise registered. “Or maybe a few.”

“How long ago?”

Now that wasn’t a question he expected. “Why” was usually on the top of the list or just various exclamations of horror and fear. Running a hand through his damp hair, he calculated,

“I guess around two years ago, now.”

The man broke into a smile that lit his face, eyes somewhere between amber and brown glinted.

“You want the job?”

Fenris nearly dropped his tea, though he did splash some on his fingers and swore under his breath.

“What?” he demanded, confusing coming out as anger and spilling into his voice, “I tell you I’m a murderer and you offer me a job? Just what sort of business do you run here?”

The owner laughed, a hearty sound like a well played cello. Fenris shook the tea off of his fingers while the man answered,

“If you were genuinely dangerous you wouldn’t have come out and said so.” he countered with good humour, “and if you’re out and about two years after killing someone or someones, then you were obviously not at fault.”

“I could have escaped prison.” Fenris countered, somehow offended by the man’s easy manners.

“Again, you wouldn’t be talking about it, and you stand out a bit, no offense.”

Fenris couldn’t deny that part. Skin the colour of a milky mocha, and white tattoos vining their way up and down what was visible his arms, ending in a petal-like pattern at his bottom lip, like a pedestal holding his mouth up. Hair as white as chalk and eyes as green as pine needles, and just as sharp.

He grumbled, then said, “Are you sure you want to hire a man like me?”

“Have you seen this neighborhood?” The bearded man scratched at his head, continuing his habit of answering questions with questions. “This isn’t exactly the best area. If you’re here looking for work, who am I to say no? Here…” he pulled out a freshly printed bundle of stapled paper and presented it to Fenris proudly. “I am also prepared! I printed an employment contract in advance!” he exclaimed this like it was a very big achievement. Warily, Fenris approached the counter again. He glanced at the papers. They looked stock-printed from the Employment Canada website. Grabbing a pen, the owner put it to the first empty line in the text.

“How do you spell your name, again?” he asked.

Still not certain he was caught up to these fast moving events, the young man replied,

“An eff, then an... _Enris_.”

Chuckling, the man filled this in. “Last name?”

After a moment of silence he looked up and saw the frown. “Ah.” He said, and abandoned that area to look at the bottom of the page, “Can you legally work in Canada? Do you have a Social Insurance Number?”

Fenris reached into his other pocket, produced a surprisingly new cellphone and searched through some emails. When he found it, he displayed it to his would-be employer. He copied the numbers.

“Nice phone.” he commented.

“It was given to me.” was the reply.

“There!” he handed the papers to Fenris. “Take a quick gander and let me know if there are any deal-breakers.”

Fenris studied the pages for a short while, flipping through them with seeming aimlessness. More of a show of interest than anything.

“Is it ok if I ask a… friend first?”

The proprietor shrugged. “Sure, it’s just a generic form.”

After a couple of moments of silent texting, he nodded at the man and reached for the pen.

His signature was letter letter F, rather larger than it needed to be on the dotted line.

Extending a large hand, the man seemed pleased as punch. Though Fenris began to believe that it was his normal state.

“Welcome aboard! You’re my first ever employee!”

“Thank you…” Fenris feared his shoulder couldn’t take much more of such enthused handshaking and disentangled himself, “...What the hell is your name?”

Giving him a grin that was both toothy and slightly mischievous, he made an exaggerated bow,

“Garrett Hawke, at your service, Messer Fenris.” Fenris couldn’t keep one corner of his mouth from quirking up at the antics.

“Right.” Was all he could answer to that, “How do you… things?” a vague gesture at the store followed.

 

Well, that had gone surprisingly easy, Fenris mused, lying on the couch of his new employer. When Hawke (he said everyone just called him Hawke) had learned he hadn’t a place to stay and was residing at the homeless shelter as often as he could afford it, he insisted to let him have the downstairs breakroom. It was a single room with enough of a kitchen for simple meals, and a he’d have access to the employee bathroom, which was rarely used. At the moment that area was being used as a storage room for overflow stock. However, he refused to let him stay there until tomorrow, where he had announced excitedly that they would clear it together.

“I’m closed Sundays, anyhow,” he had said, “We’ll do a trip to IKEA with an advance on your first paycheque.”

“What if I steal from you?” Fenris had asked, still dizzy at the pace this man’s trust had engulfed him.

“You’ve already stole my heart.” he laughed, then seemed to startle and sobered a tad, “I don’t make that much.” He had replied, placing both hands on his hips, “And if you wanted to steal the IKEA furniture you’ve obviously had never tried to move IKEA furniture after it’s been assembled. It just disintegrates half the time.” At the continued frown Hawke had shrugged and said, “You know that old adage ‘if you lend someone twenty dollars and never see them again, it was probably money well spent?’”

“No.” Fenris had replied.

So now Fenris was lying on a couch on the second floor of the shop, which was Hawke’s one-bedroom abode, and wondered if this is what living a normal life felt like. He was equal measures excited for the prospect of it and disappointed at having taken so long to achieve something so small. He was curious about his gregarious benefactor. The latter was asleep (presumably) in the next room.

Hands behind his head, eyes staring blankly at another unfamiliar ceiling. This man he is working for must be insane to hire him. He wouldn’t have hired himself. Well, part of this amazing new life meant he could quit whenever he wanted. That by itself was an amazing freedom which he suspected he might have to exercise.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris woke up with a start, his arm completely asleep from his angle on the couch. It was Hawke’s movement about the house that woke him and he spent a few moments calming his breathing and remembering where he was. Shards of an unremembered dream cut up his peaceful awareness and he spent long moments just going over the techniques he had learned. At long last, he sat up. Hawke, his employer, was in the kitchen and trying to beat eggs with the least amount of noise possible. He was failing. Glancing at a wall-mounted clock over the door to Hawke’s room, Fenris was amazed to see it was past 10am. He never slept late. 

“Sorry to wake you,” said Hawke, his ever-present merriment clear in his voice, though he was facing the other way, “but my stomach was growling and I just had to get some food.”

“You needn’t bother yourself on my account.” frowned Fenris, tossing the blanket only to grab it back quickly. He had forgotten he was in his boxers. 

“You are handsome enough to be a model, but you’re slumming it on the bad side of Vancouver? Aren’t there laws that handsome people can’t be poor?” Hawke started, still not looking at him.

Fenris found himself chuckling. Had this man just flirted with him? 

“I’m a rebel.” He assured him, using the fact that he wasn’t looking to quickly put on his pants under the blanket. 

“You were sleeping so sweetly!” Hawke finally turned, grinning stupidly, “You looked like you needed it.”

“I…” Fenris thought about it, sighed, “I did need it. Thank you.”

This man baffled him. He could have murdered him in his sleep. All he knew of Fenris was that he had indeed killed people. Was a door enough to let him sleep peacefully?

“You’re not vegan, are you? I’m making eggs and then I thought we could hop on the transit to the IKEA. If you want.”

“I really… I really don’t need anything.” He tried. He felt that since he had met Hawke, the ball was in the other man’s court, like Hawke was a river and he was somehow being dragged along. It wasn’t a wholly bad feeling, but it was jarring.

Eggs were served on the small kitchen table by the time Fenris had stepped out of the washroom. 

“You have a little bit of…” Hawke made an exploding gesture over his own head. Passing his fingers through his hair, Fenris had an idea what his bedhead looked like. 

“Some men can rock the naturally dishevelled look.” Hawke lamented, looking him up and down, “I, alas, cannot.”

“Seriously.” Fenris said, sitting down and cursing as his stomach grumbled it’s hunger. He managed a single McDonald’s cheapass burger and that tea the whole of yesterday. “Seriously, who the hell are you? Would you treat any employee like this?”

“I’d like to think so…” Hawke replied, looking down as he sat to eat his own eggs. Hawke’s house, in the light of day, wasn’t much to look at. It was sparsely furnished, with the essentials looking beat-up and old. He didn’t have a television, but a large, clunky-looking laptop sat on the coffee table. There were three bookshelves lining the back wall in the living room, and those were burdened with books. Some of the books weren’t in English, but Fenris couldn’t name the language.

“I like to try giving everyone the benefit of the doubt.” he said lightly, “I know what it’s like to know no one and to have nothing.” 

Fenris’ expression must have said what his mouth was too busy chewing eggs to ask. Hawke explained,

“My family came here as refugees.” Fenris made a noise of surprise and Hawke continued, “About, what, how long has it been now? Thirteen years?” He scratched at his beard and a bit of egg fell out. He scooped it up with his fork and ate it. “You remember all that pesky genocide in Ferelden all those years ago? That was us. More eggs?”

Fenris hadn’t even finished chewing his last bite to accept or decline more food, and lo, there was a half plate more for each of them on the table. Politeness perhaps would have dictated that he refuse, but he had his fork in his hand before such thoughts of decorum fully formed.

“Well,” Hawke said when both plates were cleared and he was rising to take them to the sink, “How does a trip to IKEA sound? I need some things there, too. Who doesn’t need something from IKEA?” 

“What is this IKEA place?”

Hawke dumped the dishes in the sink but froze at hearing those words. He looked over his shoulder at the younger man, who tried not to squirm in embarrassment. 

“You’re not from around here?”

“No.”

“God, I’m sorry!” Hawke seemed mortified, “Your English is so good I thought you were a local.” 

“It is fine, really. I’m still learning a lot about… everything.” 

“Where are you from?” Hawke seated himself back down, leaning forward in excitement.

“Is it ok if I’d rather not say?” Fenris tried, feeling more and more uncomfortable. 

“Oh, I see.” Hawke drew back, and for a moment Fenris feared he had offended this man, this man who had been nothing but kind to him, but when he met his eye, there was twinkle of mischief there, “You want to seem more alluring by being mysterious. No need, good sir, you’ve enchanted me body and soul.” Fenris chuckled at the silliness and Hawke gave that startle again and grew silent for a long moment before he recovered enough to say.

“IKEA is the god of all stores that have  _ things  _ in it.” He rose from the chair again and grabbed his raincoat and umbrella. He shook the coat a couple of times to hear the jangle of keys in it and put it on. “If you’ve never seen anything like it before, you certainly won’t see anything like it again. Do you want to come? I can go alone, and you can rest.”

“No, no.” Fenris hastily got up as well, again feeling that river’s tug. Unlike being trapped in the river without a lifeboat, it felt more like sailing on it, curious to see where the current leads. There was a measure of control here, of choice, and a part of him found it exhilarating. Not to be told, but to follow by choice? He never had that opportunity until now.

Hawke paused at the door, looking at Fenris’ outfit. Jeans, and a hoodie. 

“You have another layer under that hoodie?” He asked, “It’s minus  _ butts  _ out there.”

“Minus butts?” Fenris echoed, chuckling at the unique expression.

“You know,” Hawke grinned back, “Really freakin’ cold.”

“I don’t. It’s ok, I’m used to it.”

“No, that won’t do, here…” To Fenris’ endless surprise, Hawke shrugged off his jacket and started taking off the thermal shirt he was wearing, it hugged Hawke's muscular frame tightly, meant to keep body heat close. He handed it to Fenris, who took it mostly because he never had any training on how to refuse this particular situation. Hawke’s bare chest was a sight to behold, a layer of hair upon sculpted muscles, and Fenris found he was staring at it, and not the man’s face when he answered,

“I couldn’t--”

“It’s fine, and it’s probably the only shirt I have that might fit you.” He waved it off, ducking into his room quickly to put on a thick sweater, instead.

Fenris waited until Hawke was in his room before quickly removing his hoodie and slipping into the still-warm undershirt. It was a little too long in the sleeves, but otherwise covered him loosely, comfortably. He put the hoodie on again, feeling warmer than he had in months.

Hawke’s hand shook a little when he grabbed the door handle, but they otherwise arrived at the foretold location without incident.

 

IKEA was truly an experience never before seen.

“It’s like a zoo, but for furniture.” He observed, and smiled when Hawke laughed. There was a nervous energy to Hawke that hadn’t been there the previous day, as well as a proclivity to clench and unclench his fists. Fenris didn’t know the man well enough to understand it, and it wasn’t a concern. They purchased a modest amount of things, most of them for Fenris (Hawke’s need was apparently for a stepping stool and a waste basket). Hawke offered to pay for delivery, but Fenris easily picked up the whole stack of bundles and carried it. Hawke had directed them through the place with efficiency and expediency. They were in and out quickly and efficiently, and the larger man was practically rocking on his heels on the way home, eager to be back, fists twitching. He probably had a busy afternoon planned because he apologized profusely to Fenris upon their return and ran upstairs the moment they arrived. Fenris was left to assemble the fold-out futon he had purchased, as well as the nightstand and the small dresser. It was easy enough, and the mindless manual labour was relaxing. None of the objects were very complicated, and a part of him delighted in building things for himself, alone and at peace.

 

Kirkwall street was not a long street, stretching only two city blocks, nor a particularly well used street of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. It was one of the older streets near the water, but afforded no good view of the waterfront. It got all the wind, rain and chill of the high-rises and expensive houses, but none of the beauty except that it was a walking distance to pretty much everything; transportation, Gastown’s scenic and touristy area, the downtown core and other amenities. The immigrants who had first settled on this street all stayed there, for the better part. As Vancouver grew taller and more expensive around them, this little nook of poverty and ethnic foods remained veritably untouched. The cracks in the old cobblestones and the bursting trees seemed to be the only indications that time has touched this corner of the city. 

 

Several hours later Hawke came down stairs to knock on Fenris’ door. He offered to showed him the basics of store work. There wasn’t a whole lot to learn. He left the finicky cash register and lottery machine for later, and just went over the basics. Stocking shelves, dusting, cleaning, greetings. There was a stool by the counter where Hawke usually sat, going over his bills and receipts, jotting them down in an old beat up ledger. Fenris noticed he often scratched his head and scribbled things haphazardly. 

As night fell and they were about to turn in, Hawke to the apartment upstairs and Fenris to his newly furnished room behind the store, Hawke smacked his forehead. 

“Sorry, feel free to go on and use the shower upstairs, I need to prepare something quickly.” 

He returned to the store and quickly grabbed a plastic bag. Despite his assurance, curiosity for this strange man’s behavior kept Fenris at the door to his (his!) room. Quickly, Hawke gathered a loaf of bread (just about expired), a small milk box and some oatmeal cookies. He was done just on time as a very old lady tried to open the locked door. Hawke quickly unlatched it and gave her the bag. She handed him a $5 bill and went on her way.

“It’s Sunday. You’re closed.” Fenris stated. Hawke shrugged, shuffling his feet.

“She never remembers. She’s a sweet old thing.”

“Those ingredients certainly cost more than five dollars. The cookies alone--”

“--It’s just money.” Was Hawke’s smiling interruption. He bid him to use the shower if he needed to and gave him a key to the store. Then he turned in.

 

His first job, his first real task, his first real normal anything…

Was to sweep the floor. It was Monday morning, moments before opening.

This made him unproportionally happy. Then Hawke gave him a smile and a wink and dramatically turned the latch open. He gave Fenris the honour of flipping the sign from  _ Sorry We’re Closed  _ to  _ Welcome! We’re Open _ . The young man’s heart was beating hard as he did so. He wasn’t what anyone would call a ‘people’s person’, and he was thankful Hawke had just requested he help keep things tidy for the first day. 

His anxious mood quickly faded as he realized that the store was almost perpetually empty. Here and there a person would saunter in. Hawke would greet them, and more often than not they’d ignore him, buy nothing, and leave. Sometimes they purchased a drink from the coolers, or a bag of chips. The hours in between were quiet, at least on Fenris’ side. 

“So you’re not from Vancouver, nor anywhere else that has IKEAs. That’s crazy. I’ve never met anyone who’s never been or heard of an IKEA before.”

Fenris had no reply. None seemed to be needed. Hawke continued,

“Those tattoos of yours are pretty.” he looked Fenris up and down, “Are they all over?”

There was a pause where Fenris’ reply was expected, but he just kept sweeping the floor. Hawke just carried on, unfazed.

“That’d be some tattoo session, I bet. Must be. I’ve seen white ink before, but never seen it stand out so brightly. It’s a really neat effect.”

Another pause.

“What do you do for fun? Any hobbies?”

Fenris paused a moment to think about this question, and actually graced it with an answer,

“I like quiet.” He smirked at the chatterbox behind the counter. Hawke looked abashed, and managed a whole 10 minutes before he started talking excitedly again. Hawke spoke often about anything. A tidbit of information about the making of candy, the consumer rating on that car that just drove by. He asked many questions which his companion largely ignore and it was fine. After a pause he’d just start talking again. Fenris alternated sitting on the stool behind the counter when Hawke had cause to vacate it, and finding small things to shove this way or that on the shelves.

“Why did you need to hire anybody?” Fenris finally asked, tidying what little needed to be tidied after a few bags of chips were purchased by a bunch of teens passing by.

Hawke shrugged,

“I don’t need the help, per se.” He said, sticking receipts on a spike to look at later, “I think I just wanted the company, really.”

“You chose poorly.” Fenris observed. “I’m not a conversationalist.” 

Fenris had no answer to that. Hawke’s grin turned goofier than usual and he said,

“Don’t be so hard on your _ shelf _ .”

Fenris straightened from tidying said shelf, looked Hawke in the eye and then returned to work, not a word said or a muscle twitched. Hawke laughed, then said,

“It’s just nice not to be alone.” 

 

Tuesday Fenris was introduced to the girl who delivered one of the city’s free newspapers, The Metro. She was a slight girl, about Fenris’ height, but much smaller overall. Black hair in braids and glasses so thick her eyes looked positively owlish behind them. 

“Oh, deary, you must be the new boy Hawke mentioned yesterday.” 

Fenris figured her accent was Welsh or Irish. 

“Yes. Fenris.” He extended his hands for the papers though he hadn’t commented on the ‘boy’ part. 

“Name’s Merrill.” She introduced herself, “I work for The Metro as a delivery girl, but I’m going to become a journalist, you’ll see.”

Fenris didn’t especially care. He took the newspapers and returned to the store, not sparing her another glance. 

 

Fenris’ small room behind the shop was all he needed, and for those few days, he knew happiness. He knew also, with a certainty that left a rock in his stomach, that it couldn’t possibly last. He texted one of the only two contacts in his phone. He said,

“ _ Every day I expect Hawke to realize there is absolutely no need for another pair of hands in the store, and let me go. _ ”

“ _ I certainly hope not. _ ” Said the other side, finishing with a smiley face. “ _ This Hawke person has no idea what an asset he’d be losing. _ ”

But he didn’t. In fact, he had promised to get him one of those silly aprons with a large C on it, as though it was some sort of rite of initiation. The apron, frankly, looked too small for Hawke’s large frame. It made him look disproportionately large. It did nothing, served no purpose and certainly didn’t add an air of sophistication, or whatever it was he had intended it to. Nevertheless, Hawke insisted. “The moment we have the money.” It was a big deal to him, so Fenris kept quiet. In fact “Fenris kept quiet” could describe that whole first week. 

“ _ I’m glad he doesn’t know. _ ” He finally typed a reply on his phone. “ _ I don’t want to keep a job for the wrong reasons. _ ”

“ _ Being strong and skilled aren’t the wrong reasons. _ ” The other side countered.

“ _ You know what I mean. _ ”

“ _ I do. You take care of yourself, and if you need me, you know where to find me. _ ” another smiley face. Fenris put his phone on the pristine nightstand he had previously assembled. He sighed and hoped to sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided Kirkwall street is located here:  
> [Paris Block, 53 W Hastings St](https://www.google.ca/maps/place/Paris+Block,+53+W+Hastings+St,+Vancouver,+BC+V6B+1G4/@49.2822443,-123.1062912,19z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x5486717a0303ae89:0xda63b9b66069b353)  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was a big deal to Hawke, and his haphazard generosity was not limited to employees. Few were the people entering the store and didn’t leave with something more than they paid for, even if it was just a cup of tea. Regulars could expect to leave with milk-jugs, candy, books or toys they hadn’t paid for, given with a smile and a laugh. He always added something the person might enjoy, not just random stuff. 

Bohdan, one of the regulars, had a son on the autistic spectrum. Never have they entered where they did not leave without Sandal, the boy, loaded with free treats. 

Most of these things were never written down, and even those transactions that were recorded were done very slapdash. 

Aveline was another regular. A beat-cop and a local, she made Fenris uncomfortable for the first moment the bell at the door announced her.

“Welcome.” Fenris greeted, sweeping the floor again more for something to do than any real need. He doubted the floors were ever any cleaner.

“Who are you?” She demanded. She was taller than him, which wasn’t a difficult feat in and by itself, but she held herself ever taller. 

“Fenris. I work here now.” He made the effort of extending a hand. She nodded at him, but didn’t shake it. Hawke was taking a bathroom break, so there was no help coming to save him from her scrutiny. 

“Those markings…” She scanned his tattoos, “You’re not part of a gang, are you?”

“Not anymore.” He felt the need to defend himself where usually he would remain silent, also he worried that as a cop she might know what the markings meant.

“I don’t want Hawke to get into any trouble.”

“I don’t intent to cause trouble.” It took real effort for him not to shrink under her disapproving glare.

“Where have I seen markings like those before…?” She wondered to herself. Fenris began to panic, but Hawke returned just then.

“Aveline!” He gave her a warm hug, “Have you met my best employee?”

“I’m your only employee.” Fenris observed cooly. 

“You don’t need an employee.” Aveline added hotly.

“It’s so much more fun with someone here.” Hawke dismissed them both. He made her a cup of tea and she accepted. A part of Fenris resented that she hadn’t even offered to pay for it. 

They chatted, and she picked up some pickles and other treats. He packed an extra box of Advil in there, to which Fenris gaped-- that was expensive! and a bottle of water ended up in her hands to “keep her hydrated”. She joked she could just look up and open her mouth to get all the water she needed.

She left.

“You’re too generous.” He tried to keep his voice passive, not judging, and failed.

“It’s only money, in the end.” Hawke had used the phrase before. “She needs all the help she can get. Her husband is sick.”

“I thought Canada took care of things like that.”

“Not everything. Prescription medicine and certain surgeries are still out of pocket. Believe me, I know. She works so hard, and he’s in so much pain…”

 

On Friday Fenris woke up to the strong smell of tomatoes. He got dressed quickly and stepped into the store. Hawke was struggling with the door leading his apartment, both hands burdened with a massive pot of soup.

“Ah, Fenris!” he exclaimed, pleased. Fenris stepped forward and took the pot from his tired arms. It was quite hot and filled nearly to the brim with a rich-looking tomato soup. 

“Where do you want it?”

Hawke, clearly impressed that the smaller, skinnier man was having much less of a problem carrying it, pointed towards the portable range behind the counter. Fenris obliged. 

It was then that he noticed there was actually a lineup of people outside the door, a line of umbrellas like mushrooms in the rain.

Hawke turned on the portable electric range, and all the lights went off with an audible snap. Huffing with irritation, he unplugged a lamp at the counter and climbed the stairs, muttering about keeping the laptop plugged in. He returned and opened the ancient fuse box, forced a breaker back into position and the lights returned. 

“Alright!” he clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly, “Your first Soup Friday.” Fenris could practically hear the capital letters of that title. 

“You sell soup on Fridays.” 

“Yes!” Hawke exclaimed, excited and impossibly surprised at Fenris’ deft guess. The latter tried and failed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the enthusiasm. When Hawke smiled the scar on his nose curved up. Fenris could barely handle the happiness from one smile, let alone two on the same face.

“I need you to go out and down to the Sun Fresh Bakery on Keefer.” He opened the cash register and pulled out a random amount of 20’s, handed them to Fenris. “Get as many milk buns as that can get you. Soup Friday without milk buns is just  _ soupid _ .”

Ignoring Hawke’s puns should have been an Olympic event. Fenris would have been a gold medalist. “Aren’t you going to count this and dock it off your ledger?” 

He headed towards the door, exasperated, after Hawke made a raspberry sound and waved it off. 

“Oh, and let Varric in, will ye? You can’t miss him and Bianca.”

He opened the door and there was a rustle of umbrellas as the lineup hoped it was time to come in. The first man in line, more to the side, really, was a stocky, short man. Another ginger, like Aveline, but this one was all smiles when Fenris asked if he was Varric. 

“The one and only, at your service,” He rasped, tipping his fedora at Fenris. Finally someone who was shorter than him. Fenris looked around, “Is… Bianca here with you?”

Varric laughed, pointing at the guitar slung over his shoulder in a black carry bag. “She never leaves my side. My one true love.”

Fenris held the door open for  _ both  _ of them… and left to buy milk buns. 

By the time he was back it was time to open and the line had grown. Old people, young people, even Aveline and her husband were there.

Varric was seated on a the stool that was brought from behind the counter and placed in a corner, and he was playing his guitar, singing beautifully as people entered the store to purchase soup. A toonie ($2) got them a disposable bowl of fresh soup and a milkbun. If Hawke was making any profit margin on this, it was slim. But the pure joy on his face as he greeted new and old friends seemed to be all he needed. Varric’s fedora at his feet filled with odds and ends of change. It seemed to be a win all around. Even Fenris found himself busy. People had time to think of questions while waiting in line. Some people asked that he gather their items for them while they kept their spot in line. Others asked if there still enough soup left for their turn. Two people managed to drop their soup before exiting the store and that was a cleanup of proportions he hadn’t seen yet. Hawke, of course, replaced the soup with a laugh.

As soup levels dropped, Hawke set aside a bowl, shoving it towards Fenris with a wink. He was going to protest, but the next person in line demanded his employer’s attention.

It was the best tomato soup he had ever eaten, although he didn’t have a large sample range.

It was the most money the store had made all week, meager as it was. When the store finally emptied, shortly after the soup was gone, Varric scooped up his earnings and approached the counter. He had come out with a nice amount of change which Hawke gladly started exchanging the change for bills.

“A store lives off its float.”

“Float?”

“Change in the drawer.”

“Ah.” 

He learned something new that day. Varric looked him up and down, then addressed Hawke,

“What’s with the new kid?” 

Fenris frowned at the descriptor. If facial hair was an option for him, he would have considered it, if only to stop people from calling him ‘kid’ and 'boy’. Varric had perfected the art of elegant scruffiness, a ginger dusting of a five o’clock shadow adding suave to his swagger. 

“Fenris is a ray of sunshine in the store.” Hawke's bald-faced lie earned him a glance from both Fenris and Varric.

“Yeah, maybe Vancouver’s version of sun, which is rain clouds.” Varric huffed. He flicked his chin up at Fenris, asked,

“What’s your story, frowny?”

“No story.” Fenris quickly defended. Clutching his mop (soup cleanup) and taking an involuntary step back.

“Everyone has a story, pout-meiser. Me? I was busking without a cent to my name until Hawke here offered me to play here. Since then I got regular gigs at local bars and I make a living.” He thrust a thumb in Hawke’s direction, “This man here got me off the streets.”

“He does that.” Fenris observed as Hawke smiled modestly puffed out his chest.

“Your talent got you those gigs, I just gave an opportunity.” He smirked mischievously and added, “My contribution  _ dwarfs  _ in face of your talent.” He got a laugh from Varric, and a punch to the arm along with it.

 

Much to Fenris’ surprise, a quick, and blessedly boring month and a half had come and gone, and he was still very much employed. Very much as safe as he had ever felt out in the world. He laid on his folded out futon bed in his (his! Actually his, though rented only) tiny room and texted. 

“ _ There are things here that belonged to me. _ ” A blanket that he could keep, a kettle by the stove for his exclusive use. A microwave, a mini-fridge to use whenever he wanted and share with no one.

“ _ Must be nice! Get used to it. This is how life really is. _ ”

Fenris quirked a half smile at the little screen, thumbs typing, 

“ _ It’ll be a strange day when I can take this for granted. _ ”

“ _ I look forward to hearing of that day. _ ”

“ _ Thank you. _ ” The recipient knew why he was thanking him. He had thanked him dozens of times before.

“ _ If you really wanted to thank me, you’d have accepted my job offer and stuck around. _ ” A winky-face suffixed this line, and Fenris smirked and put the phone aside.

Luxury such as this never knew a more grateful recipient. 

In the morning he threw off the blankets and got ready for work before realizing it was Saturday. While Hawke worked 6 days a week, he had insisted on Fenris having a two day weekend. Though he protested, he was determined to try and live like a normal person, if that was possible, and normal people sometimes got weekends off.

Shrugging on his raincoat, he stepped out into the city. For once it was merely grey and overcast, but at least not currently raining.

 

It was raining when he got back in the evening, however. He had spent another completely and delightfully unproductive day sitting at various waterfront establishments and alternating between staring at the inlet and the mountains, and trying various local cheap foods. Vancouver’s population came from all reaches of the earth. It took another block in any direction to find confection of almost every nation. 

He had to walk through the store to reach his apartment, but a pair of large men inside stayed his hand at the door. He shrank against the brick of the adjacent building, watching them through one of the large decorative (thought barred) windows that flanked the door. He knew their type. All too well. All too personally. Hawke was all smiles and kindness as always, but there was an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. 

Before Fenris could decide if he needed to intervene or perhaps call the cops, Hawke handed the pair an envelope filled with bills, and his smile tightened when they each grabbed a couple of bags of chips on the way out.

They hadn’t noticed Fenris, just headed to their black sedan parked across the street. He was just another hooded figure in a random street, part of the background noise of living in the city. When Fenris peeked inside the store again, Hawke was looking dismal (a first), running a hand through his naturally messy hair. Fenris went into the store when the car rounded a corner and vanished.

“Welco-- Oh, welcome back, Fenris.” He gave a brave smile, but the young man didn’t buy it.

“Who were those men?” He demanded, cursing internally at the strain and intensity of his voice. Hawke was startled, perhaps by the tone, perhaps by being seen with them. 

“Oh! Those guys? Don’t worry about them.”

“Hawke.” His voice was colder than usual and it had an effect on the larger man. He looked truly contrite. 

“I’m sorry.” Hawke said, “I don’t want you to get in trouble with the law. The less you know, the safer you are.”

The words hurt. Hurt in a good way-- he had never had anyone in his old life who had wanted to protect him. Some people had felt protective of him when they learned the truth about his past, but that was more pity than care. Never met anyone who wanted to protect him simply because he existed. 

But the words also hurt because he felt the same way. Hadn’t told Hawke anything about himself, his past, because the less he knew the safer the man would be. Hurt because somehow he felt that Hawke didn’t trust him enough. Why would he? He was a generous man to everyone. Fenris was in no way special to him. Those casual flirts a few weeks ago had ceased, not that Fenris was certain he wanted them to continue. Hawke treated him no different than anybody.

“I work here. I need to know.” He shook his head, “No, that is insufficient.” He continued emphatically, “I  _ want  _ to know. I can take care of myself. I’m not afraid.”

Hawke made a face, hand going back to his hair. After long moments of debating with himself he said quietly,

“They’re Carta men. Protection money.”

Fenris drew back in surprise.

“The Carta?! Here?”

Hawke nodded, “We’re a poor neighborhood. All but forgotten. There are all sorts of gangs around here… The hispanic Crows, the local Cotarie... “ He looked away, smile fading, “The Carta is much… nicer, for lack of a better word, than the Cotarie ever was, and the Crows are straight-up killers. It’s best this way.”

“Does the whole street pay them?!” Fenris’ anger was boiling. This is the last thing he wanted to hear. He had forgotten he was sopping wet, and a wild hand gesture sent water flying. 

“All the businesses, yes. They don’t take  _ all  _ our money, just... some. It’s just money.”

“It’s about more than money!” Fenris slamed is first unto the counter, making the old thing shake. The newspapers slipped to the ground, taking the bowl of candy with them. He didn’t care,

“It’s about living in freedom! It’s about standing up to those who live their lives by making others afraid of them!”

His voice echoed in the empty store, his employer’s eyes wide as saucers in his head. Their gazes remained locked for long moments, Fenris’ breath heavy in his chest. He hadn’t meant for this outburst, but the man opposed from his softened his features, a smile returning to lips best suited for mirth. Warm eyes that knew nothing of Fenris, yet still regarded him with compassion and respect. No pity, but awe shone through, and a shiver followed up Fenris’ spine. Eyes the colour of maple meeting eyes like spring leaves.

The bell on the door rang and the moment was broken.

“I heard raised voices,” Said the newcomer, shaking his umbrella, “Is everything ok?”

The man was of slight build, but his eyes held a kindness tempered into hardness. 

“Anders!” Hawke shook off his previous despondence and stepped out from behind the counter to embrace the man.

“Who’s this?” He asked. He had blond hair held back in a ponytail, though the humidity had frizzed out his otherwise immaculate look. He wore a suit and a tie. Overall, he stood out as someone who didn’t belong on Kirkwall street. 

“This is my amazing employee, Fenris.”

Anders’ eyes went from the puddle at his feet, to scowl on his face to the mess on the floor.

“He’s not very good at his job.” He observed. Fenris decided he didn’t like this man very much, though it did shake him out of his stupor enough to bend down and start collecting candy. Hawke stepped away from the suited man to help.

“It’s actually his weekend. He’s the best. What brings you here today?”

Anders walked to a specific aisle with familiar practice, grabbing a few small tins of the same type.

“Justice’s food, of course!” He shook a can as proof. “You always have this flavour, her favourite!” Hawke placed a hand on Fenris’ shoulder to help himself up to attend to the purchase, and somehow this small gesture of camaraderie and trust soothed his ragged tamper. 

Anders paid for the cat food, receiving a box of his favourite tea in the bag as well. He left.

“I’m sorry for that.” Fenris said quietly.

“About what?”

“Yelling… earlier.”

“It’s fine,” Hawke assured him, while Fenris stood up to place the newspapers and candy back. “I don’t expect you to be happy you’re working in a place that gives money to organized crime.”

“It’s not that…” He couldn’t for the life of him organize his thoughts, so instead he said, “Who’s Anders?”

“An old…  _ friend _ .” Hawke chose his words carefully, a lot being left unsaid very loudly, “He’s a human rights lawyer.” 

At Fenris’ raised eyebrows he added, “He’s very passionate about human rights, and cats, and cat rights. Donates a ton to the BC SPCA. Comes off a bit strong.”

“You two have that much in common.” 

Hawke had the decency to look embarrassed, perhaps aware of his proclivity to sweep people along with him. “Have you ever just looked at someone and decided you wanted to be their friend?”

“No.”

“Well, I do that all the time, the problem is that they don’t know that we’re going to be friends yet!”

Fenris thought about it, finally noticing that he was soaked and needed a shower, “Did it happen with me?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Are we friends yet?” He tried softly, uncertain.

“Perhaps if you need to ask, we might not yet be. I’ll make you my friend yet!” was the laughing threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people usually make Anders a doctor, but I felt he'd also be happy fighting for people's rights, and cats, and cats' rights. Also, I think Varric would have an amazing singing voice-- just so much emotion in it. At bars he sings raunchy songs, but at Hawke's I imagine it's mostly heartfelt ballads.  
> And yes, Anders and Hawke were probably lovers in the past.
> 
> I'll try to upload the next chapter for the weekend. :) Hope you enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this earlier than I expected 'cause I have no other gift to be able to give to Raineishida for her birthday, so I decided to post another chapter, and hopefully make her smile at the puns.

A full month passed. Fenris couldn’t believe it. These heavenly weeks where absolutely nothing of note really happened. Regulars came in, regulars left. Varric played Bianca, and Friday soup was always popular. The men from the Carta showed up on the first business day of each month, Hawke had explained. He promised Fenris he would never have to deal with them.

At Fenris’ request Hawke had sent him out to the nearest large grocery store. It was a bit of a treck, actually, and Fenris got an idea why Hawke’s store was popular in the neighborhood. The goal of the trip was to buy a feather duster. Fenris had suggested dusting, and Hawke had agreed.

Somehow it felt glorious. He had what Hawke had dubbed a “Swiffer Duster” in his hands now and the thing was like a magic wand. He was doing something small but meaningful. He could see with his own two eyes that once he passed over an area, it was clean, if only for a little while. Knowing he would do this most days sounded, honestly, delightful.

“I’m glad you’re at least enjoying yourself. It’s not the most glamorous of work.” Hawke had observed. Fenris found dusting addicting. Cleaning, tidying. Everything he touched remained changed. Things were better after he attended to them. He cleaned every surface he could reach. His eager duster brushed the surface of two pictures on the wall. These were the only pictures on the wall that were not advertisements, new or old, but framed photos. On the narrow part just over the counter. Fenris studied them. It wasn’t hard to miss Hawke, towering over the rest of--

“My family.” Hawke said, and it was the first time in days where there was no humour in his voice. A smile, but no humour. He stretched and picked the top picture off the hook. It was a family of five, standing outside of a farm. The photo was water damaged and one corner had crinkled into whiteness. Hawke pointed to the oldest man. Hawke of today looked remarkably like him, although the Hawke in the picture did less so-- the lack of a beard, perhaps. It was strange seeing his face without the scar across the nose.

“That’s my father.” His eyes were soft, “He was killed there. It was what prompted us to leave, really. My mom,” He pointed, “Was a badass. She took a teen and twin kids and ran. That’s a badass thing to do. She’s dead now. That’s Carver,” He pointed at a young boy, not older than ten, standing beside a girl who looked a lot like him, “He was a little shit-eater, he was. He’s dead, too. Died of illness on the way here.”

Fenris silently pointed at the girl, almost fearful at this point that she was dead, too. He had no idea this jovial man bore such grief. The casual tone, and the information itself, stunned him.

“Bethany.” Hawke said, “You’ll meet her soon enough when she’s on leave. She’s in the military, being a wizard.”

“A wizard?”

“She works on this system called M.A.G.E., Mathematical Algorithms Generated Exponentially, or something. It’s a complicated thing I don’t quite follow.”

“But she’s alive.”

“She better be!” Here his smile returned and he hung the picture back on its peg.

The second photo was of Bethany and Hawke, much more recent. Just the two of them. She was in military fatigues, and it looked like they were at a restaurant and snapped a picture themselves.

The brief introduction to Hawke’s grief shook Fenris to his core. He had to look away from those warm, sincere brown eyes and went back to dusting.

A very wet man stumbled into the store, then, looking stressed and hurried. He had dusky skin and a twirled mustache.

“Please, do you have a phone? My car broke down a block away and I’ll be late for an interview. I can’t just leave it parked there because I don’t have enough money for the meter but I have to call a tow truck and my phone ran out of power and I need to get to that interview!” He was gasping by the end. The slump of his shoulders was all too familiar to Fenris-- it was the slump of a man expecting a rejection, the set of the legs ready to sprint to the next possible oasis.

Hawke blinked at him twice, grabbed a paper cup and conjured a teabag in seconds, flat. He raced over to the anxious man and gave him the tea. In two swift motions he grabbed first at a granola bar, which he offered to the man, and with the other hand he grabbed an umbrella.

“Let’s go see if we can’t get your car going. I have a phone on me and we can call the tow truck quickly if we need.” Using his height to protect them both, Hawke and the incredibly grateful man rushed out into the rain. “Hold the fort!” he called to Fenris.

Thankfully no one had come while Hawke was gone since Fenris wasn’t entirely sure how to operate the till yet. Had seen enough to use it in an emergency, but didn’t want to risk it. He did take a quick look at the ledger and he nearly went blind from the poor record-keeping.

Hawke returned drenched and empty handed.

“Where did the umbrella go?” Fenris asked, though the moment he finished speaking he knew the answer,

“I gave it to the guy. He was having a rough day.” Hawke was shivering, still smiling like an idiot. “I daresay he’ll make it to his interview, after all.”

Fenris made a face.

“Go take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Sure, _mom_.” He laughed and turned to head to the door that lead to his apartment on the second floor, but the store door opened and a local group of coworkers wanted to buy a lottery ticket together. Hawke stayed to “just finish this” and then of course more things came up.

 

When Fenris entered the store the next morning to find it empty, his stomach filled with dread. Climbing the stairs, he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He entered. The apartment was much like it always was, whenever he came in to do laundry or take a shower.

There was not a sound. Stealthily, he crept towards the partially open door to Hawke’s room. While the house was sparsely furnished, like he hadn’t ever bothered to put any personality in it, Fenris secretly hoped Hawke’s room would be different. It wasn’t. It was much smaller than Fenris thought it’d be, smaller than Fenris’ own apartment. There was a bed, a desk and a nightstand. The blanket had fallen down and Hawke was curled into a shivering ball on top of the sheets, a frown on his sleeping face. A sheen of sweat on his body. He also, Fenris learned today, slept naked. He was curled into a ball. Nothing much could be seen, but Fenris caught himself drinking in the musculature, strong arms, curved buttocks, lines on the neck and an unbelievable sculpted clavicle…

Shaking his head and shuddering, Fenris toed his way towards him. It felt very odd and invasive to reach out and touch a naked man, even if all he wanted to do was touch the forehead, but he forced himself to do so anyway to check his temperature. As he suspected, his employer was burning up. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and hesitated only a moment before draping it on him. This stirred Hawke awake.

“Bwa? Mom…?” Was the muffled whine with eyes still closed.

“I am definitely not your mother.” Fenris said quietly. Hawke’s eyes flew open. First they met Fenris’ green ones, locking on them for what felt like a long time. The pupils were pin pricks on the maple of his eyes. Then they darted to digital alarm clock to check the time.

“Shit!” Hawke tried to bolt to a sitting position, throwing off the blanket in an attempt to get out of bed.

“Shit!” He swore again, in an octave higher, as he grabbed the blanket to cover himself. Then he grabbed his head with both hands, trying to make the room stop spinning.

“Shit.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

Fenris licked his lips, uncertain what to do..

“I’ll get you some medicine. You should stay in bed.”

“No…” Hawke moaned miserably, sniffling and sneezing three consecutive times before speaking again, “I refuse to not open the store!” he whined.

Fenris ignored him, going to the bathroom where he knew Hawke kept medicines. He picked up a no-name acetaminophen bottle and shook two pills into his hands, then went to kitchen to fill get a cup of water. The whole while Hawke was trying to whine and protest, though he hadn’t yet the strength to leave bed.

He gave Hawke the medicine and the water and stepped back to let him swallow one, leaving the other on the bedside table.

“The store hasn’t been closed since my mother died.” He protested weakly, plopping back down against the pillows. “I don’t want you in there alone.”

“I understand you have no reason to trust me, but--”

“It’s not about that!” He sat bolt upright again, though he immediately had to reach for his head. After a long moment of him just grunting and sniffing, he said, “I trust you, Fenris. I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Fenris raised a brow at this,

“You’d work while sick just to keep me company?”

Hawke nodded, adding,

“I also don’t want the store to be closed. I haven’t taught you how to use the till yet.”

“I’ve seen you do it, I think I can manage.” He turned around to leave, but Hawke’s hand reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt. Certainly a new feeling for Fenris, fingers grazing his spine through the shirt.

“Come and check on me, ok?!” There was a strange edge of desperation, and Fenris glanced over his shoulder to nod once. He left.

As expected, the day was slow, and Fenris allowed himself to leave the store unattended for a few minutes at a time to fulfil the promise to check on Hawke. The man was a terrible baby while sick. Even though all Fenris did was refill the water or get him the medicine bottle, the smile that spread on the man’s face each time Fenris arrived was disproportionate to the kindness provided. It made him uncomfortable. Still, he felt better at those times he walked in to see the man texting. At least he wasn’t alone all the time.

“I’ll make this up to you.” Hawke promised, despite Fenris’ protests that it wasn’t needed. “I’ll put aside some money and get you that apron. You’ll see.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “That apron is pointless and I don’t need one.”

During the dull hours in between treks upstairs, Fenris cleaned, or sat at the counter. It was strange sitting in Hawke’s usual spot, and Fenris couldn't help a small moment of comfort and pride that this was his job. That he _had_ a job. That there was a whole bustling city out there but he got to sit here, out of the rain, having a job like a normal person.

A man came in to buy cookies, but then realized that they had nuts in them and sought to return them. This was a bit more complicated than Fenris expected and it took him a bit of time. Remembering Hawke’s methods, he offered the man a cup of tea while he sorted this out. Receipts issued and cash given back, Fenris scratched his head as the man left. He opened the ledger to see if there were any prior instances of this and how Hawke had handled it.

The ledger was a mess. Things were assigned to the wrong accounts, transactions written down as “ _the blue thing_ ” or “ _he came back_ ” or “ _money for that stuff yesterday_ ”. Numbers were guesstimated, receipts were missing. It made him want to pick up a pen and start from day 1, but resisted. As Fenris leafed further and further back, he found a certain day, three years ago, where the writing changed. Suddenly it was all very tidy and correct and clear and written with a feminine, elegant hand. Hawke must have inherited the store from his mother. Here and there the perfect writing was interspersed with Hawke’s messy scrawl, often crossed out and corrected with that fine penmanship. Learning.

With that thought, Fenris closed the ledger, made a cup of tea, and visited Hawke again, this time for a bit longer than before.

When he came back, with permission from Hawke, he picked up the pen and started to fix the ledger, starting from last week. Another handwriting invading what felt vaguely private. Fenris’ handwriting was blocky, big shaky letters of a man not used to holding a pen, but he knew numbers, and, guided by him, the numbers started to make sense. The store was hemorrhaging money, the only days that made a profit were Fridays. If one thing was certain, it was that Hawke really shouldn’t have taken an employee.

Fenris had to tolerate the next day on his own, still visiting. He didn’t mind the solitude. There was a peace and quiet that was certainly not there when Hawke was around. He visited as often as he could tolerate to.

At one point he brought Hawke a bowl of soup (prepared in the microwave from a can) and Hawke said, “This is _soup_ er!” thanking him. Fenris rolled his eyes, turning to leave the man to his rubbed-raw nose and sneezes. He noted that he was using toilet paper to blow his nose, tossing the soiled ones into a plastic bag by the foot of the bed.

“I was thinking I should get your phone number,” Hawke said mildly, blowing on the soup in his lap to cool it, “So that I can text you if I need anything, and you’ll have my number for future reference.” Fenris nodded and they exchanged numbers.

“ _Soup_ erb.” Hawke grinned and Fenris turned on his heel and left. Hawke laughed and coughed.

He got a text a few moments after he sat down, back in the store.

“ _This soup is souperior to all others I’ve had._ ”

Fenris hit his head on the counter. Now there was absolutely no escaping the puns.

“ _Don’t make me block this number._ ” He was suddenly nervous, typing. His other contacts on the phone knew he wasn’t a fast typer. They knew he wasn’t a fast reader, either. Only two years experience under his belt, after all. Thank god for predictive text and audio-to-text.

“ _I’m sorry. I’m being insouperable._ ”

Did he mean 'insufferable'? “ _That’s not even close._ ”

“ _I souppose it wasn’t._ ”

Despite his better judgement, he decided to go back and visit later. He pulled out a few dollars from his pocket, and made a purchase. When he climbed up the stairs, it was with a box of tissues. He deposited them determinately besides Hawke. The sick man stared at them like he had just deposited a holy artefact at his side.

“I shouldn't spend money on--”

“I bought these.”

“For me?”

“For you.” He rolled his eyes at the large, over dramatic eyes staring up at him. Hawke had the decency to put on pajamas, knowing that Fenris would be visiting.

Hawke opened his mouth to speak, but Fenris pre-empted him with a raised finger,

“If you make a soup pun I’m taking these away.”

“Is asking for more soup a soup pun?”

Fenris made him another bowl. He returned and the tissues had been opened.

“I’ll cherish these forever.” The sick man sniffled pitifully. His nose was already rubbed raw, it would be saved further pain by using those.

“I’ll keep each used one in a glass jar for posterity, as a monument to your kindness.”

“That’s a…  frankly disgusting idea.”

Hawke settled to drink his soup, smiling up at Fenris. He felt his face flush at the trust there.

“I’ll use the tissues to make you that apron. That way you shall wear your kindness wherever you go.”

“And your snot. Charming.”

“...You always shoot down my plans.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t say that I  _soup_ down your plans.”

“That’s just _silly_.”

Fenris, rather than smack the guy, just turned and left.

By the time he made it downstairs he already had a text from the man.

“ _Bowlasoup sounds like a name of a place in Africa or something_.”

“ _You’re very strange_.”

There were no further texts that day.

Hawke had deemed himself well enough to return the next day. Fenris suspected he couldn’t bare to be away from the store for longer. Couldn’t bare to be away from his community. The man was going insane up there with only his phone for company and Fenris’ irregular visits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finding these many soup puns took work, but it's a task I approached willingly, even gladly.  
> I love puns.  
> I might still post another chapter over the weekend. I hope you enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I can write these two forever. They're so much fun...

Tuesday afternoon of another week was the slowest the store had seen yet, in Fenris’ brief recollection.

He had dusted twice, had lunch with Hawke at the counter, and one person had entered the store all day. It was unusually cold and threatened to be one of those freak windstorms that so often knocked out power and wrecked havoc on the city.

The old house creaked and the windows rattled. Certain places in the store certainly felt drafty. No one stepped out of doors unless they absolutely had to.

It was painfully boring. So much so that even Hawke had run out of stimulus to continue talking. The only noises were the wind outside, the rare car splashing through.

The lights flickered. The air outside was alive with leaves flying through the air.

“Ugh!” Hawke banged his head against the counter. The stack of newspapers nearly toppled over and Fenris quickly lashed out to stabilize it, glaring at the man.

“Nice catch.” He murmured into the counter.

“I guess I’ll dust again…” Fenris mused out loud, looking around for anything at all to do. “It’s a good time as any to sweep the floor and mop, too.”

Hawke cheered up immediately at this.

“Ooh! I can start on the dusting while you sweep. Then we’ll mop.” Saying nothing about being overexcited for such a mundane task, he protested that dusting was his favourite, he watched Hawke bound over to the supply “closet” (a nook in the wall covered with pressboard) to grab the Swiffer Duster.

“Oh, don’t be _shelf_ ish.” He smiled like it was funny.

“ _Aisle_ keep that in mind.” The realization that Fenris had cracked a joke dawned on his face like the dawning of a glorious day.

 

Hawke was taller and could easily reach above the defunct ceiling fan which Fenris had never managed to reach, even extending the duster to its longest. The ceiling of the store was a wreck. Between the cobwebs and old pipes, Fenris was certain some of those beams were rotted through. This building didn’t have many more years left in it. It was a sad thought. They worked across the store in silence, listening to the windstorm outside.

“I don’t think any mop in existence is powerful enough to clean these floors, Hawke.” Fenris observed the years of accumulated grime and long-ago eroded varnish on the tiles.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

At one point, at near proximity, the plastic of Hawke’s duster handle smacked the handle of Fenris’ broom. Neither could say who initiated the bump. It wasn’t much of anything, really, but Hawke jumped back, brandishing the duster like a rapier.

“A sneak attack?!” His eyes sparkled with mischief. Fenris raised a brow, but otherwise didn’t engage in the silliness. Hawke lunged, targeting the end of the broom with a few slaps of his ‘sword’. At Fenris’ continued indifference he stuck the fluffy end of duster in Fenris’ face. The latter sputtered, backing up and sneezing, dust in his face.

“Stop that.” He said. Hawke advanced, thrusting again. Fenris easily deflected the slow attempt with the broom handle. Another lunge, another deflection. This time Fenris slid his longer weapon across his opponents extended arm to tap him in the chest strong enough to push him back.

“Oof!” Hawke cried, laughing and resuming his attack. Fenris countered.

It took little time to realize that the duster was at a disadvantage to the broom’s long reach, and a smack on his hand caused the weapon to go flying.

Instead of finishing him off, however, Fenris tossed him the broom. While Hawke’s brows shot up in surprise, Fenris retrieved the mop.

“Now it’s on.” Fenris said, initiating an attack.

Both were adept at stickfighting, as it turned out. Fenris’ style was aggressive, swinging high and low and attacking center of mass. Hawke’s style relied on deflection- knocking the offending stick with long sweeps, creating openings. Fenris was, however, the superior fighter. A lifetime of conditioning and violence reduced to play-fighting. The broom was knocked aside and Hawke’s head assaulted with determined taps. Not enough to hurt too much, just enough for Hawke to drop the broom and run away, covering his head and yelling “Ow ow ow ow!”

Eventually he broke down into a fit of laughter, and for once, Fenris joined, easy and carefree. He quickly tried to calm down, coughing into his hand and forcing in a few deep breaths. Hawke’s smile was gorgeous when he straightened, met his eye and said,

“You really _wiped_ the floor with me.”

“ _Stick_ with it, you’ll get better.” Fenris countered, unable to keep the smirk off his face, after all.

“I don’t know if I can just _brush_ off this defeat.”

“You intend to _sweep_ my victory under the rug?”

“I _bristle_ at the accusation.”

They were giggling like idiots at this point.

The door jangled open. Neither expected customers, and certainly no one like her.

She wasn’t very tall, but she held herself like she was a mountain and everyone else were ants. Her blond hair was tied in a ponytail so prim it could have pulled her entire face with it, had it not been so stoney. Piercing blue eyes scanned the store, and found it wanting. She wore a very smart business suit, and her heels were like the ticking of some dread clock. Fenris instinctively shrank behind one aisle.

“Who is the owner of this… _establishment?_ ” She demanded, her voice like a trumpet of war. The word ‘establishment’ came forced from her lips, like she felt she was insulting the word by using it on a place like this.

“That’d be me. Can I get you some tea? It’s a mess outside.” Hawke stepped forward, reaching a hand to shake. Though her nose wrinkled in distaste, she grasped the hand.

“I am here to deliver this.” her other hand extended with a bundle of official looking papers, on top of which was pinned her business card.

“ _Meredith Stannard, property mogul._ ” Hawke read out loud. She nodded,

“This neighborhood is going to change.” She announced, “I hope you’ll attend the information and discussion seminar at the cultural center. The date is on there, as well as the agenda. Farewell.” And she turned on her heels and left. A confused silence descended momentarily after she departed.

“What is it?” Fenris asked, standing at Hawke’s elbow to read what he could. The text was small and tightly printed. He couldn’t make out anything, really.

Hawke leafed quickly through the pages, skimming. His brow wrinkled,

“Apparently they want to build a Nestor’s here.”

“Here? What’s a Nestor’s?”

“Nestor’s is like a really fancy grocery store. All organic food and locally sourced and all that. I’m not against it, but they’re offering to buy me out, along with half the block for it.”

Fenris frowned, “Isn’t that sort of food very expensive? I doubt this neighbourhood can afford any of it.”

“We’re not the target demographic.” Hawke said, his tone for once accusing and a little bitter, he made towards the counter, where he jotted down the date and time of the meeting on the calendar. “A fancy grocery store would bring in fancy people. Lots of parking on this empty street. More traffic will mean more investors and before you know it the whole area gets gentrified.”

Fenris looked away, out the window. The storm still raged. He frowned.

“Are you going to sell?” Any good thing only lasts so long.

“I’m not planning on it.” Hawke answered soberly, “I’m in piles of debt,” He admitted, to Fenris’ surprise. Surprised that he had mentioned it, not surprised that the store wasn’t doing well. He continued cheerfully past the mention of debt like he hadn’t made it, “This place is falling apart but it’s the only place of it’s kind for blocks. The community _needs_ this place. I’m not likely to move until they turn off the power on me!” His proclamation was made all the more dramatic with the punctuation of a loud crash outside which promptly took out the electricity.

Both Fenris and Hawke couldn't help but burst out laughing at the timing.

Hawke went to the large rusted fuse box at the back of the store, located between the door leading to Fenris’ room and the one leading upstairs, and flicked a few fuses back and forth. The outage was over the entire neighborhood. Nothing to be done on their end.

Power was restored by the time they were done cleaning, and the papers were not mentioned again for quite some time.

 

“What are these candy sticks? I see them everywhere, but I never see anyone actually using them.” Fenris commented one day, about a week past. He was rearranging a small section. The closer the expiry date of a product, the closer to the front to be grabbed first.

“What?!” Hawke bellowed from behind the counter, stepping away from his crossword puzzle to charge towards Fenris. “You’re serious? You’ve never had a candy bar?”

He just shook his head.

“Oh, man! Where did you live? A cave?” Not waiting to see if his question was to be answered or was in fact, offensive, he grabbed a sample of each type and grabbed Fenris’ arm to lead him to the counter. There he proceeded to unwrap each one and split it in two. Some were crumbly, some were gooey. Some had elements of both. The smell, Fenris had to admit, was intoxicating in an over-sweet way.

“You better write those off.” Fenris pointed at the ledger. The owner wasn’t planning on it, so Fenris did. Then, Hawke held a piece of chocolate up, his face everything that was eager and excited. Fenris tried to take it, but Hawke pulled the piece back.

“You’ll get caramel on your fingers. Then you’ll have to get your tattoos done all over again. Here,” He dropped the piece in Fenris’ mouth and the latter felt his face flushing warmly from the gesture. It hadn’t been meant as innuendo (at least not from Hawke’s expression), but it had felt intimate nonetheless. A gesture of trust.

For every half he’d feed to Fenris, he’d eat the other half himself. The young man called it quits after five different flavours.

“Ugh! It’s tasty, but it gets overly sweet quickly.”

“There are only two left. I left my favourites for last. C’mon!”

Fenris agreed to have the last two, though it wasn’t exactly a chore.

Hawke was just wiping his hands on his apron when the door opened. It was Aveline, though perhaps only in body. Her spirit was crushed, her clothes pure black.

“Ave-- _Oh, no_.” Hawke’s smile crashed into a frown. He quickly scooted out from behind the counter and approached her, hand reaching to her shoulder.

“Yesterday. Wesley… Wesley died yesterday.” She said in a deadpan. Hawke led her to the chair behind the counter. She had yet to look up since she had entered. “Couldn’t find a matching donor. Couldn’t-- His heart just…” Tears stood in her eyes, and when they spilled she didn't sob. bottled up like a pressure cooker. “Maybe if I saved more we could have afforded going to the States… They probably had a heart--” She needed a moment, and Hawke pulled her into his chest with a hug. She leaned into him, silent. Fenris’ lips were pressed tightly. He had seen her and her husband every Soup Friday and sometimes during the week. The man was a gaunt shell on a once strong frame, sickness costing him day by day. It had finally cost too much.

Nothing was said for quite a while, until Hawke spoke.

“I know it feels raw and terrible right now, and that’s ok. It’s ok to feel like it’s all over, so long--” He pulled back, looked her in the eyes with a hint of a grin, “--so long as you know deep inside that it’s not over. That maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even next week, but soon and before you know it you’ll be able to laugh again. Slowly, when you’re ready. Not today..” His eyes were drawn to that photo of his family, and he kept a warm hand on her shoulder, “Death is less permanent than you think, a temporary separation.” His smile grew wistful, eyes on the picture and through it, through the years to a happier time.

Fenris spoke up, much to both of their surprise,

“I don’t remember all of this poem I heard once, but I do remember a chunk. It goes:

_Life means all that it ever meant._

_It is the same as it ever was._

_There is absolute and unbroken continuity._

_What is this death but a negligible accident?_

 

_Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?_

_I am but waiting for you, for an interval,_

_somewhere very near,_

_just round the corner._ ”

Silence rang out when his solemn recitation, Hawke’s face a mask of surprise. Then Aveline finally broke down and cried. Big shuddering sobs that wracked her body. Hawke embraced her again. After a length of time she calmed down and Hawke pulled away. Fenris had just stood there, heart broken. He hadn’t known the man, but he had known Aveline’s strength. To see her like this was physically painful.

“Can I get you some tea?” Hawke’s voice was soft. She nodded, and he reached past her to the hot-water tank. It was empty, and he apologized quickly and reached for the door upstairs. “You can use the kettle in my room.” Fenris offered. He thanked him and went to the other door.

Left alone with the grieving Aveline, Fenris said,

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His therapist would be proud of him for trying to express empathy.

“Fenris, was it?” She blew her nose on a tissue from her pocket and looked up to meet his eyes, albeit briefly. He nodded.

“Can I ask a question?” He tried. It was her turn to nod.

“Why come here?”

She actually smiled, sniffing and trying to calm her hiccupping breaths. “Hawke introduced us. Wesley…” She swallowed with difficulty but her voice cracked only a little when she continued, “Wesley used to deliver supplies for this store, back when Leandra was around…” another breath. Her glance over her shoulder at the picture helped Fenris sort out who Leandra was.  “Hawke introduced us.” She trailed off, then pulled her shoulders back and met Fenris’ gaze, “But that didn’t really answer your question. I came here because Hawke, of all people, gets it. Understands death better than most, having lost as well as taken life.”

Stunned, Fenris couldn’t speak a word. Aveline flinched. “Shit, sorry. He doesn’t talk about that. Leandra told me.” She glanced at the door. He could be out any moment now. Tea didn’t take very long to make. “When his family was escaping Ferelden… A member of the rebels found them at the border. His father had just died, and his mother was protecting the twins… He fought and killed the man, allowing them to cross the border to Poland.” She licked her lips. “He doesn’t talk about it.”

Hawke opened the door and Fenris jumped. He was carrying a large cup of tea and a smile, though the redness of his eyes hinted he needed a moment to himself, too. Provided comfort readily and with a grin, Fenris realized, then cried alone, away from others.

Aveline left after a while, able to smile for a moment, though everyone present knew that pain would be a constant companion. Hawke hugged Fenris, and it was a first. Fenris said nothing for a moment, too uncomfortable to speak. Then he patted the man on the arm.

“Can’t breath.” He said. Hawke withdrew.

 

Three hours later Fenris leaned heavily on his broom, feeling queasy, dizzy and exhausted.

“Sugar crash.” Hawke observed, his eyes worried.

“What did you do to me.” It was an accusation, not a question. He felt nauseous.

“I fed you too much chocolate. Have you never had chocolate before?”

“A little.” Admitted Fenris, leaning the broom against the wall and heading to the stool behind the counter. “The square stuff that comes in foil. Never this much.”

Hawke led him instead to the door to his room, “We close in an hour. Take the rest of the day off. Sorry.”

The door was closed behind him before he could protest. He slept until the next morning. He dreamt fitfully, and woke up feeling just as tired as he had gone to sleep.

 

“No more candy sticks for me.” He told Hawke that next morning. The latter looked chastised.

“I had no idea it’d have such a terrible effect on you.” He admitted, smiling. He was always smiling. It irritated Fenris a little, that the man who had seen so much hardship could smile so easily. It made Fenris feel like he was wallowing in his own past, but he reminded himself, looking at the man, of the words he had spent two year internalizing; that everyone deals with the horrors of life differently, and there was no more shame in Fenris’ scowl then there was in Hawke’s smile. It was hard work, fighting against everything he had been taught growing up, but to make friends like Hawke, it was worth the daily fight.

“You a’right?” Hawke asked at his prolonged silence.

“Y-- Yes!” He shook out of his reverie, face flushing as he realized he might have been staring at his employer the whole time. Hawke’s smile widened and he gave him the customary wink before unlocking the door for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine them fighting like they do in the game, just with a broom and mop instead of their swords and staves. I hope you're still enjoying the story, and I hope to update again sometime this week.
> 
> Hey! It turns out Meredith has an actual last name. I originally just called her Meredith Knight, but then I looked at her wiki entry and discovered she actually had a last name. 
> 
> EDIT: The poem used here is _Death is Nothing at All_ and can be found here.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Another slow day, and the quiet was nearly oppressive. Most of the times Fenris preferred it like this; quiet, peaceful, calm. Nothing that might startle him, nothing to fear. Today the quiet made him antsy. 

“Put some music on your phone,” Hawke suggested, for once tending to the cleaning under the clutter on the counter. Fenris, using his beloved duster, cleaned each area as Hawke held the objects up. 

He pulled out his phone, starring at it. “I don’t know how.”

It took the two of them standing side by side, Hawke back-seat phone-ing, to figure out how to put on a local radio station. It didn’t help that Fenris kept on being distracted as he couldn’t be sure if Hawke was looking at the screen or at his face, but every time he turned to check, Hawke’s eyes were on the screen, a useless suggestion on his lips.

The radio station was playing 80’s hits, and immediately he regretted putting on music-- Hawke’s voice started ringing out in the store, singing along to songs of ages past. At first he sang deliberately poorly, but slowly his mind drifted to other things, and his voice softened and Fenris found himself secretly relishing in the man’s deep, melodic voice. He wasn’t a professional singer, by any means. He was no Varric, but his love for these songs added a warmth to his melodies.

Fenris was organizing the instant noodles packets, as the ones in the front had expired, when Hawke twirled his way towards him. A new song had started, heavy synth cello punctuated by the heartbeat of drums and a steady stream of cymbals. A woman’s voice started crooning, and suddenly there were hands grabbing his. He thought at first that Hawke was trying to lead him towards the store entrance for some reason, but when the man reversed his direction Fenris stumbled on his own feet, pulled the other way. Tug, pull, trip, it took Fenris a few moments to realize Hawke was trying to lead him in dance. Fenris had never danced before, though what Hawke was doing could be called ‘twirling around’ rather than dancing. 

“What are you--”

“ _ Take my breath awoo-waaaay! _ ” He belted out, making Fenris cringe, though now he was bonelessly letting the larger man lead him around the store, feet tangling, rhythm unkempt. 

“You’re being silly.” Fenris chastised when the song entered a melodic section.

“I wouldn’t dream of ever--” He pushed Fenris away, unfurling the man until he was at arm’s length, then pulled back in to grasp both hands. The store was barely big enough for this. “--being silly.” He finished with a grin. The song picked up again and Fenris was ragdolling his way back and forth, never managing to predict where Hawke was going to pull or push. He felt it was an apt analogy for their relationship thus far, Fenris a curious, if not very active participant in the strange rhythm of Hawke’s life, pulled in without knowing, yet not wanting to break the flow. He could feel the warmth from Hawke’s body, the roughness of his hands pressing into his, the vibrations in his chest as he hummed the music or softly serenaded, more to himself than to his dance partner. Fenris wasn’t sure what this song was about, but it seemed to be about loss and gain, and about a lover whose mere visage was enough take the singer’s breath away. Hawke’s smell was of clean clothes and somehow, impossibly, he smelled like a sunny day. Their height difference was such that if Fenris was so inclined (he wasn’t!) he could lean his head perfectly on that strong shoulder. 

When the song was drawing to an end and Hawke shifted his weight, Fenris had seen enough dancing on television to warn,

“Don’t  _ you dare--! _ ” 

Hawke tipped him, deep, one hand still holding on to his, the other supporting the small of Fenris’ neck. The goofy smile on his face was matched with Fenris’ frown. He pulled him back up, twirled him away from himself as another song started. Fenris found that he needed to catch his breath. 

“ _ Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight… _ ” Hawke sang to himself, head bobbing back and forth with the beat, lips pouting like a petulant rockstar. The smile now spread on the Fenris’ face was not conscious, nor unwanted. Hawke held hands to his sides, bent at the elbows, stuck out his butt and wiggled it, he wasn’t even doing it in Fenris’ direction, just goofing around in general, no thought to how it might make him look or what others thought of him.

“C’mon Fenris!” He said between verses, “Sing with me!” 

“I don’t know any of these songs.” He replied. Hawke’s smile faltered a moment, but then he smiled and kept singing nonetheless. 

“Is there any other station you’d prefer?” 

“This is fine. You’re far more entertaining than the songs.”

Hawke incorporated a bowing flourish into his dance, and kept on singing. The afternoon passed contentedly listening to the radio, with Hawke joining in to sing the songs he knew. Eventually Fenris’ phone started running out of power, and the day wound down. Hawke was smiling like a fool for the rest of it.

 

A man jangled the bell as the door opened, entering and looking around with a smile of satisfaction. Fenris stepped forward to greet him, though he stopped halfway when he saw who it was, 

“ _ Anso? _ What the hell are you doing here?”

The man, Anso, was a very round person of forty or fifty years of age. He greeted Fenris with a heartfelt handshake. Anso had the unique ability to never quite fit into anything he wore. He could be, and probably was, wearing very expensive outfits, but after three minutes in them he would look like a sweating mess of nerves and wrinkled cloth. He would constantly try to adjust his outfit, and the effect would just snowball. Still, he had an air of competence and confidence about him and was one of the few people in this world that Fenris trusted impeccably. 

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come to check on you.”

Hawke made the trip from the counter to the front of the store (all seven steps involved) to meet this new person.

“Oh,” Anso said, turning to face the much taller man, “You must be Hawke. I’ve heard much about you.” They shook hands and Fenris’ anxiety at the two parts of his life meeting reached distressing levels. 

“How do you know Fenris?” Hawke asked the one question he had hoped he wouldn’t. But Hawke looked Anso over, in his rumpled suit and crooked tie and continued, “Are you his parole officer?”

Anso chuckled, sending a sideways glance at Fenris, “Something like that, yes.”

“Can we step outside to talk?” Fenris blurted out, asking both of them. Anso, if he wouldn’t mind, and Hawke if it was ok for him to take a break. Both were fine with it, and Hawke shook Anso’s hand again and invited him to shop at Champions if he was ever in the neighborhood.

 

Outside, Fenris relaxed visibly.

“What are you really doing here?” He asked, not unkindly. He was happy to see Anso. He wasn’t in the habit of seeing faces of people he knew, ever, so the visit was a welcomed novelty. “Were you really in the neighborhood?”

“I was in the vicinity of Canada.” Anso chuckled, glancing at the storefront with its bars over the windows, the stained and peeling sign. “Wanted to see you and not just text you. You… You prefer working here than taking the job I offered you? Certainly chose an interesting place.”

“Interesting is the opposite of what I want. You know that.” He replied, smiling. 

“Your boss looks like a decent sort.” Anso commented tilting his head to point back into the store.

“My boss? Hawke is… interesting.” 

Anso raised a brow, “I thought interesting was the opposite of what you wanted.”

Here Fenris chuckled, “Yes, but he’s  _ good  _ interesting, not bad interesting. I’ve never thought people like him existed.”

“People like him?”

Fenris shrugged, “People that kind? I’m not sure. While he’s a little irritating, he’s not a bad man. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Have you told him about yourself?”

Fenris shook his head vigorously. 

Anso smiled, stretching and taking a peek at the grey sky to see if it was going to rain soon. “I’m glad you’re alright and settling in.” He said, “I ran a background check on Hawke,” At Fenris’ incredulous glare he added, “Just in case! He has a rough past, but nothing alarming.” He decided to risk the wrath of heaven and started walking, he gave Fenris and the storefront one appraising look and concluded, “Interesting.” He waved goodbye to Fenris and promised to keep in touch.

When Fenris returned, Hawke didn’t ask a thing, just finished typing a text message on his phone. Fenris took a moment to do the same, thanking Anso for the visit.

“ _ Talk to you again soon, I’m sure. _ ” Was Anso’s reply.

 

On the Thursday of a week, well into winter (he was still having trouble believing it has been this many peaceful weeks already!) a soldier entered the store. It took Fenris a moment to tell it was a woman, and also that she looked familiar. Hawke was away purchasing ingredients for tomorrow’s soup (It was going to be lentil soup). Fenris’ first reaction was to hide, so when she called out, “Garrett?” at the seemingly empty store, it was understandable, “It’s me, Bethany!”

Fenris stepped out from behind the aisle.

“He’s out.”

Now it was her turn to startle. 

“Oh!” She said, looking him up and down, “Are you his hot new employee he was telling me about?”

Fenris could not comment about the ‘hot’ part, although he wondered, if Hawke thought him attractive, why had all of his flirtations stopped. Did he even want that sort of attention? He didn’t have time to think about this right now.

“I am his worker, yes.” was the careful reply. 

She approached him to extend a hand and he tried not to slink into the shadows. Official people in uniforms made him uncomfortable. 

Her hand in his was far smaller and more delicate than he expected of a soldier. They were artist’s hands. 

“Bethany.” She smiled, and immediately the family resemblance showed itself. Both had the most disarmingly charming smile. Bethany was taller than him (but so were most people), although she was not quite as tall as her brother. She had the same maple-coloured eyes and the same strong bone structure. Her hair was shaved on the sides, but long enough on the top to put into a tight military-grade ponytail. She was wearing fatigues that hinted at a strong physique underneath. Another commonality with her brother was that easy confidence she held herself in.

“Fenris.” He said.

“Oh, I know.” She purred at him, “He used to text me about Anders’ latest rant or Varric’s new song, now all of his texts are  _ ‘omg Fenris just made a face at me’ _ or  _ ‘Fenris is sooo cute’ _ .”

Fenris blinked at her a few times and she laughed, patting him on the shoulder. The Hawkes were very touchy-feely, it seemed.

“Why is he telling you such silly things?”

“Uh, maybe ‘cause he has a huge crush on you?” 

Fenris sputtered, and Bethany’s laughter rang out again. He didn’t hire him because he thought he was attractive, did he? Did that matter? Surely she was joking!

“Surely you are joking!” He blurted out, embarrassed that his voice squeaked as he did.

Still laughing, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through some old texts. She showed Fenris a specific day, about a week after he had started working there.

_ “Fenris is scowling at the chips again. I think he’s offended by the silly flavours.” _

Then,

_ “Fenris is scowling at the windows now. I guess I should clean them.” _

_ “Fenris is scowling at me now. I made a pun.” _

_ “Fenris is adorable.” _

_ “I need to hire more Fenrises. Fenrisi, Fenries.” _

_ “Oh god he’s scowling at a pigeon that landed outside. He’s just stopped sweeping and is just staring at it.” _

_ “He’s adorable.” _

_ “Oh gawd I think I have a crush on him shit shit shit shit I am the worse employer in the world” _

That last one was in all capital letters.

The bell jingled and both of them jumped. It was Hawke, carrying grocery bags. While Bethany quickly hid the phone, grinning from ear to ear, Fenris shrunk behind the aisle again, wanting his blush to go away, and not certain he could look at Hawke in the eye right now without blushing an even darker red.

“Heya, bro!” Bethany and her brother hugged. She hid any embarrassment at telling her brother’s secrets. After they parted she asked,

“Does your new employee get a lunch break?”

“He does,” Hawke nodded, both of them looking at Fenris now, or what little they could see of him from behind the aisle, “But he never takes it. We eat together at the counter between customers.”

“Has he taken his today?”

“No--”

“Goodie!” She reached and wrapped Fenris around the shoulders with an arm. He flinched, but didn’t resist when she dragged him into the open, “Then we’re going to lunch. I want to get to know him.” Hawke looked a little surprised, but smiled and opened the door for them. 

Another common theme in the surviving Hawke family was the ability to sweep others (or at least just Fenris) along in whatever they were planning.

They were seated at a busy Gastown sushi restaurant. Fenris wasn’t a fan of most sushi places that smelled too strongly of fish, but he wasn’t going to complain here. He ordered the beef udon and she ordered a maki combo. While they waited for the order to arrive, she leaned her chin on the balls of her hands and asked,

“So, how do you like it?”

“The sushi place?”

“Hawke’s, you silly.”

Fenris tore the top off of his chopsticks wrapper and pulled them out. He wasn’t an expert with these utensils, but he was learning. Hard to live in Vancouver for an extended period of time without learning.

“It’s fine.” He replied passively, non committal. Bethany made a face of dissatisfaction with his answer, then her grin turned apologetic.

“I’m sorry if telling you about his crush made you uncomfortable.” She admitted kindly, “I just know my brother, and I know he’d never admit it, himself. You don’t have to do anything about it. I mean, it’s been forever.”

“Do anything?” He repeated, confused.

“You know, reciprocate. You don’t have to.”

This is the last topic Fenris wanted to get into with a veritable stranger, so he asked, hoping to change the subject,

“You’re on leave?”

“No, I’m AWOL.” She laughed, then told the truth, “Yeah, just a couple of days. I actually serve out in the boonies-- in Abbotsford-- so it’s easy to come here when I have time off. I stay at my boyfriend’s.”

Both Hawkes also talked a lot and volunteered a lot of information without prompting. That reminded him, and he said,

“I’m… I’m sorry about your family.”

She blinked at him a couple of times, smile slipping in surprise.

“He told you about them?”

“I am simply sympathizing that Hawke is your brother.” He tried for levity. It worked, and she smirked.

“Him and I have the worse luck with family members, don’t we?” She tilted her head, “I think the bad luck’s all on his part, considering how close he came to being the last surviving member of the Hawke clan.”

Before he could fully think the words through he asked, “How so?” Then, realizing it might be a painful memory, quickly added, “I don’t--”

She cut him off,

“He told you about everyone else, but not me?”

“He showed me those pictures he has, and pointed to you…” Fenris wracked his memory to anything Hawke might have mentioned about Bethany, but only remember that she was still alive.

“He didn’t mention how he saved my life? Just like him, too.” She huffed with a touch of humour, “Generous to everyone but himself.” He was thought about what Aveline had shared, but felt this wasn’t what Bethany was referring to. The food arrived by a harangued looking young asian woman who quickly refilled their green tea and scuttled off to help other customers. After she departed Bethany asked,

“He told you how our mother died?” 

Fenris shook his head, picking up the spoon to slurp some of his udon broth. She started telling the story, unprompted, though not unwanted.

“Ugh. Just like him. Mom got to enjoy living in Canada. We came here as refugees when we were young.” She snapped her chopsticks apart and started eating, as well.

“He told me that much, at least.”

She nodded, then continued, “It wasn’t bad, although we didn’t have much. One day, about three years ago, we came home and found her passed out on the floor.” Her voice was animated enough, but Fenris could detect the sadness underneath. He was given the impression she was trying to power through part of the story to get to another one she wanted to tell more.

“One hospital and stress later, and we lost a mom.” 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Nephrotic Syndrome, undetected for years caused complete renal failure.” She quoted from a long ago heard doctor’s explanation. “Both Hawke and I were tested for it, and it turned out my kidneys were both about to crap out, too.” 

“He-- He gave you a kidney, didn’t he?” Fenris amazement was clear.

She nodded, pursing her lips and raising her brows in a “can you believe it” kind of way.

“I’d say it cost us an arm and a leg, but…” She chuckled.

“Of course he’d do that.” He admitted, feeling a nervousness and a sense of awe towards the otherwise silly man. “He’s  _ too  _ generous.” Fenris scowled, “He gives away free things at the store all the time.”

Bethany couldn’t agree more. “Ever since mom died, he just…  _ gives _ . I worry about him. He’s not saving any money for the future, barely making a living in that doomed general store.”

“Hey,” He felt the need to defend the store that had become the closest thing he has ever known to independant comfort, “Soup Fridays go quite well.”

“One day of sales doesn’t a successful store make.”

He had to shrug here, having no counter argument other than to scoff out, “And those Carta thugs aren’t helping.”

Her face turned icy quicker than lightning. He cursed himself internally. Did she know? Had he said too much? He was still learning conversational skills…

“They’re still coming around?” She demanded, eyes flashing with an anger he had never seen on her brother’s face.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything…” 

“No, I’m glad you told me.” Her poor napkin was being crushed in her fist. 

“Please don’t tell him I told you.” He pleaded.

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” Her anger was definitely directed at the thugs, not at her brother or her lunch companion. “I hate it. He’s the pillar of that goddamn community and these vultures pick on him.”

“Isn’t Aveline a cop? Perhaps we could tell her--”

“She tried in the past. That’s what originally got the Coratie out and slowly the Carta got in power. It took the Cotarie actually murdering someone for things to change. It’ll take some outside interest to solve the problem. Either a major crime or some large corporation needs to move it for anything to happen.”

He remembered the intimidating property mogul and mentioned the Nestor’s proposition.

“Buying him out?” Bethany drew back in surprise, calming down enough to stuff more of her sushi into her mouth, “Gee, it was mom’s store. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Neither does he, I suspect.” A piece of meat from his udon slipped from his clumsy chopsticks and splashed as it hit the soup. Bethany was kind not to comment as he reached for a napkin to soak the spots from his pants.

“Does this whole business with the Carta make you uncomfortable?” She inquired mildly.

“Why should it?”

“Because you used to be a Tevinter, weren’t you?”

She hastily apologized for bringing it up after he coughed up the whole piece of meat that went down the wrong pipe. He had broken out in a cold sweat, but once he could move again, he assured her he was alright. 

“How did you know?” He asked, voice strained despite his assurances. 

“It’s not well known, but it’s not exactly a secret either. It was all over the news when they went down a couple of years ago. I know enough to know what those tattoos mean.” 

He said nothing. Stared at the remaining noodles in his soup. She spoke again, worried she had offended or hurt him, “I’m sorry.” 

He looked up at her apology, surprised by it,

“No, no. It’s fine. Of course it’s fine. It’s in the past. I just haven’t really thought about it since I started working for him.” It wasn’t entirely the truth. He paused, then blurted out, “Does he know, do you think?”

Bethany shook her head, a small smile on her lips, “Does he look like the type of guy who knows what’s going on in the world? If it isn’t happening in Kirkwall street, he doesn’t know about it.”

Somehow it was harder to admit his horrific past to her than it was to Hawke. He hadn’t said much to him then, but he outright admitted to being a murderer. Hawke’s acceptance was so unconditional, so rare and so precious to Fenris, he doubted he would get its like ever again.

“I did tell him a little. He knows my hands aren’t exactly clean.” Was all he dared to say. He didn’t want her to think he had tricked or lied to her brother.

She just shrugged, “I’m sure he was cool with it. It’s not like he hasn’t ever killed anybody.”

Fenris winced and admitted, “Aveline told me about that.” 

Bethany nodded, unbothered. “We  _ were  _ escaping a genocide. The Blight, that is-- the faction that was doing most of the indiscriminate killing-- wasn’t the type to just let people go. We got out alive because of him. It’s how he got the--” She ran a finger over the bridge of her nose.

Another act of true heroism left unsung. All that filled his mind was that man’s smile. How strong and warm it was despite this life of sacrifice. A life of giving and giving and never asking for anything in return, not even payment for a cup of tea. Those few moments in the past months he had let the smile fade and some of the pain shone through stood out vividly in Fenris’ mind. A child driven from his home, protected his family only to see them each fall and die. All except Bethany, and when push came to shove he sacrificed for her, eagerly, easily, without a second thought. The community depended on him, and even to them he gave freely, openly. Cried alone, though.

Fenris considered asking Bethany not to tell Hawke any more than he already knew about Fenris, but gave it up. He wasn’t trying to actively hiding it. The Tevinter Imperium was dead and gone. He had seen to that. He knew that it wasn’t really a secret at all. The markings on his skin were like a warning flag to any low-life criminal who knew enough about the real players in the underworld. No one had been worse than the Tevinter Imperium.

Bethany insisted on paying for his lunch, despite his protest.

On the short way back she apologized again, calmly,

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. Not exactly the first impression I wanted to make…”

He gave her a smirk, “It’s fine.” He assured, “I think sometimes existence makes me uncomfortable.”

She chuckled and threw a hand over his slender shoulder, squeezing him close for a brief moment before releasing him. He tensed despite himself, but smiled at her nonetheless. Her touch was a comfort, but it felt fundamentally different than her brother’s. On those rare occasions when Hawke touched him, there was soothing heat to it. A warmth that shot straight into Fenris. It shot straight to those parts of his soul that had been chilled to freezing by his previous life and warmed them, restoring them little by little. This man who has killed and spent the rest of his life sacrificing for the sake of others. Who smiled at a world that was ugly and vicious and that took far more than it gave.

Bethany said she had some friends to meet and that she’d be by the store after closing to have dinner with her brother. She invited him to join and he said he’d “think about it”. She left.

At the entrance to the store he hesitated.

The sign was turned to ‘ _ Sorry, We’re Closed _ ’. If Hawke had had to step out for some reason he’d have done this, but Fenris could look through the large windows of the store and see someone at the counter with Hawke, though he couldn’t see the larger man’s expression. He tried the door, gently, and it opened. With one hand he grabbed the bell to prevent sound, and with the other he eased himself silently through and closed the door behind him. Even Hawke hadn’t made notice of him.

As he slunk between the aisles towards the counter he saw the knife in the young man’s hands. Hawke was chattering away in his usual fashion, emptying the already pretty desolate cash drawer and apologizing he didn’t have more money.

Fenris easily stepped behind the would-be accauster, grabbing him roughly by the hair. Instinct and surprise made the young man attempt to swing his small blade over his shoulder. Fenris’ other hand grabbed the wrist and twisted it viciously. There was a snapping of bones as it broke, the knife clattering on the tiles and scream tearing itself out of the young man’s throat. With one determined motion Fenris slammed the thief’s face into the counter. The newspapers and candy bowl tumbled to the floor in a heap beside the moaning pile that was the would-be robber. 

Hawke greeted him with delight, rounding the counter to embrace him in a bear hug, actually lifting him off the floor. “My hero!” ‘

“Put me down.” He grunted, arms pinned to his side. Hawke smelled nice and it suddenly reminded him of Bethany’s original confession on behalf of her brother and caused him blush deeper than what the hug had originally elicited. He coughed into his fist uncomfortably when he was deposited back down. Hawke gave him another radiant smile before producing his own ancient flip phone and calling the non emergency line for the police. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun working on this story. I hope you have fun reading it. :D I just finished Dragon Age Inquisition the other day and WOW. Just... wow. Bioware can weave such complex, fascinating characters. I learn so much, playing their stories.


	7. Chapter 7

When Aveline showed up, Hawke explained the situation, except that he lied with an ease and a smile that, frankly, distressed Fenris. He explained that Fenris had gone to lunch and that the young man currently in the ambulance had spent some time in the store just browsing the aisles. Then, when he had worked up his nerve, he pulled out a knife and demanded the money in the till. Hawke was complying until Fenris came back, whereupon the young man was so startled he spun around, slipped, hit his head on the counter and landed hard on his wrist.

Aveline had no reason to believe otherwise, and jotted the testimony down. After having Hawke sign it, she left.

“Why did you lie?” Fenris asked after the police car and ambulance had driven off.

“I didn’t think you’d have liked going down to the police station. Just a guess.”

Fenris indeed wouldn’t have liked it, but…

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” He demanded, instead. Recent information, as well as their epic stick fight left no doubt in that Hawke was actually a capable fighter.

Hawke shrugged.

“It’s just--”

“--Money.” Fenris finished through clenched teeth. “Letting people rob you isn’t generous!” He barked at him, hands flailing. Hawke’s smile faded a little, though not entirely, and he was putting the money back in the till.

“I know, but I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him.”

“What if he had hurt you?!” Fenris demanded. “Would you fight if he _stabbed_ you?!”

Hawke shrugged. “Better I get hurt than others.” His smile grew again, “I’m big and tall-- the percentage of my body that would get hurt is smaller by proportion than others’.” It was a poorly made joke, Fenris felt. He remembered Bethany’s words vividly. This man before him had lost his entire family, fought insurgents to save what was left and sacrificed an organ to save his remaining. Now sorting bills in a run down store in a forgotten corner of the city. Fenris’ anger was almost fanned larger by awe, by the depth of this man’s kindness. It wasn’t fair. _It wasn’t right._ Hawke deserved more. He didn't deserve to have a knife ruin a day’s earnings, meager as they were. He didn’t deserve to be bullied by the Carta or property moguls or any of it! He should have been the first to fight for all this. It wasn’t just money, it was his future!

He could find no words to say. The door jangled and Anders entered, saw the mess of newspapers at Fenris’ feet and frowned to himself.

“He really isn’t a very good employee.” He commented. Hawke just laughed and Fenris swore under his breath and bent down to pick them up again. He tried to stamp out the fires of his anger, but they just fed on everything he looked at. The run down store, the few drops of blood the thief left behind that he would have to clean up. The unfairness of it all stoked the flames higher and higher.

While Fenris worked Hawke showed Anders the papers Ms. Knight had brought in. While he was no property lawyer, Anders had a better understanding of the language they was written in. “ _Legalese_.” Hawke had called it.

He scanned the pages, but had nothing new to add.

“These all seem in order.” He observed, “The price they’re offering you is insultingly low for this market, but between the age of the neighbourhood and the condition of the building, it’s understandable.”

“What would you advise?” Hawke asked.

Anders seemed surprised at the question, “I would sign it, of course!” He said, “You can open a new store out in the suburbs with this money plus maybe a small business loan. This community is going to get either gentified or burn down one day, and you might as well get ahead while you can.”

Hawke thanked him and Anders bought cat food and left.

It was long moments after and Hawke was still staring at the papers, mind lost in thought. Fenris had finished tidying, but needed the space the papers occupied on the counter for the newspapers.

He stood there a long moment, both hands filled with newspapers and a bowl of candy on top. If Hawke sold this place Fenris would lose his job. He’d have a reference, though, and at least a single entry on his resume, but he wouldn’t have Hawke. Wouldn’t see him every morning and receive a sandwich he never asked for for lunch. Would never see the smile or hear the bad jokes. He supposed he could keep in touch, but somehow seeing this man less than 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, seemed… insufficient. Fenris had already caught himself missing him during his dull weekends. He supposed that’s what happens when you had only one friend.

“Hawke?” He tried. The man snapped out of his reverie, sputtering a quick apology and moving things to make room. “Are you going to sign it?” He asked tentatively, placing the newspapers down and proceeding to play that dangerous game of ‘too far this way or that way and the whole thing comes tumbling down again’.

“I don’t know.” Admitted Hawke, no smile anywhere this time, “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.” Fenris stated resolutely.

“But… He’s right. It’s only a matter of time until things change. They can sue me, they can get me evicted-- this building isn't up to any modern construction codes, and they can leave me with nothing. This store is all I have left.”

Fenris scowled as the words echoed fears he had faced and was still fighting every day.

“You can sell out and be miserable, or you can stand up like a free man and suffer and know you've fought for what’s important to you.”

“I’m not good at that.” Hawke admitted, his voice small.

“That’s not what I heard. I’ve heard you can fight when needed.” The way Hawke’s eyes grew in his head indicated that the story of their escape wasn’t one he told to many.

“Bethany told you about that?” He whispered, frowning.

“Aveline did.” he said, “She told me you were very brave.”

“It’s not courage to save yourself and your family.”

“What is it, then?” Fenris snapped, expecting to hear words like ‘shameful’, ‘awful’, ‘horrific’, slung from Hawke and unbeknownst to him, also at Fenris. But then Hawke met his eyes and said,

“It’s necessity.” The frown, the set of the shoulders, they all spoke of a man who had the strength, deep inside, to kill to protect. It was a different Hawke, perhaps the layer hidden underneath the laughter and the smiles. It sent a shiver of something far away from fear down his back. His shoulders lowered from their defensive spot near his ears. He hadn’t realized how much he had tensed until that tension was released.

“Yes, but so is this.” Fenris took in a deep breath, then continued, “You _need_ this store. The community needs this store. They all depend on you. I need…” He coughed, “I need a job.” He finished lamely, his face flushing despite himself.

Hawke smiled again, and the store suddenly returned to colour and life and home, just like that.

 

That evening Bethany stopped by, true to her word, bringing with her takeout from at least three different local restaurants. Fenris was just stepping out of the shower, so he was swept up in the Hawke family dinner whether or not he had other plans. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was warm and comfortable and everything Fenris had thought a family should be. He had no recollection of any personal experiences. Bethany was dressed casually, with a long flowery skirt, despite the weather outside. It has hard to imagine her back in fatigues, this girly, happy girl.

“I brought all the food. All of it. Forever.” She announced, placing four bags worth of containers on the small kitchen table.

“I could have cooked.” Hawke gave her a bear hug, and she giggled like a little girl. The sound was charming.

“You work all week, you’re allowed to be fed once in awhile.”

They laid out the various dishes, and Hawke produced plates and forks for everyone.

Containers opened and armed with utensils, they dug in, Fenris more cautiously than the siblings. At least none of the dishes were fish. There were three varieties of Chinese food, a few tacos and a container of butter chicken, plus a container of rice and naan bread to go around. Over there there was Chicken Biryani and another Indian dish Fenris couldn’t name. By Hawke’s standards, this was a feast. It was certainly far more food than either of them could usually afford.

“Hawke, you’re not giving Fenris any trouble are you?”

Blushing a little and sneaking Fenris a quick glance, Hawke raised his fork in protest, “I wouldn’t dream of it! I’m a model employer!” He pointed at Fenris, “I’m even going to get him his own apron!” Like that made him a better employer. Fenris rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want one.”

Bethany put her hands on her hips, leaning forward to scold her brother,

“You look like a bear wearing an toy-apron in that thing! Stop wearing it! It’s dirty and old!”

“It’s not dirty! And Fenris’ would be brand new. He won’t look like any sort of animal in it.”

She prodded him playfully with her own fork. He flinched and whined, waving his own fork like a miniature sword. She used the opening to steal a piece of butter chicken off his plate, to which he protested loudly.

Fenris just chuckled to himself.

“Fenris, do you have any family?” Bethany asked casually. He swallowed with some difficulty and replied, trying to keep the smile on his face,

“I have a sister, but we’re not really in touch.” Perhaps sensing his discomfort, neither Hawke pressed it. He felt the urge to add, “She’s nowhere near as awesome as Bethany.”

Bethany delighted, and Hawke deflated,

“Fenris never says nice things about _me!_ ” He protested while Bethany was rubbing it in his face with a dance.

“That’s because you didn’t buy him lunch. And dinner.” She stuck out her tongue.

“I make him a sandwich every day!”

“Then you’re just not as awesome as me. Is that really a surprise?”

Hawke pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and twitching one shoulder up like a petulant child. Fenris laughed.

“You are both awesome.” He said.

“A fine concession.” Bethany hugged Hawke, though the man was sitting down, still. “But we know what you said first and it shall always be remembered.”

Hawke made a zerbert into his sister’s cheek, blowing air through pursed lips. She laughed and smacked him.

 

“Where are you from?” Bethany asked in a friendly tone after a good portion of the food was consumed. Unlike Hawke, who had never asked about his personal life and expected a reply, her eyes on him were eager to learn more.

“I tried that.” Hawke intervened. “He’s determined to keep his mysterious past mysterious.”

“It’s just that your features are stunning.” Bethany said, mouth full. She chewed thoughtfully, “Don’t get me wrong, me and Sebastian are super-serious, but it doesn’t mean I’m blind!”

Fenris had little to say, except,

“I think I’m mostly First Nations, basically Native-Canadian.” He said, not sure how to react to her compliments.

“Oh! That makes sense! Tall cheek bones, that nose… that skin…” She swooned in an over exaggerated way, then fluttered long lashes at her brother, “Don’t you think, brother dear?”

“Don’t I think… what?” He tried to evade the question, concentrating on trying to scoop out some more butter chicken without shunting the container with the spoon.

“Don’t you think Fenris is stunning?”

Hawke’s head slowly lifted and he, nervously, looked at Fenris. He felt his face flush at that attention.

“I don’t think an employer should make such observations.” He managed to say evenly, though he looked away.

Bethany pouted, rising and leaning over to place a delicate hand on Fenris’ cheek while giving his other one a quick peck. Now Fenris knew he was really blushing. It didn’t help that Hawke had followed the motion with his eyes, and that his adam’s apple worked hard as he swallowed.

“What was that for?” Fenris squeaked out, leaning back to look at her.

“Because you’re a sweetheart who has to deal with this baffoon every day.”

“I am not a buffoon.” Hawke corrected haughtily, “I am strictly in the realm of ‘goofball’.”

Bethany teased Hawke, Hawke teased right back. They both were quiet polite to Fenris, and he almost felt left out. Bethany wanted a picture snapped, but her phone was nearly out of power, Fenris lent her his. It had a good camera on it, he had been told. Both Hawkes crowded over a sitting Fenris, and Bethany said “Say goofball!” before snapping a picture of the three of them.

Overall, it was lovely.

 

Fenris laid in his bed that night, thinking. He had been working here for a few months, now.

Two years ago, when his life changed, he could only have dreamt of a day where he was free like he was now. He made actual money, had an actual (sort of) apartment. He had an actual friend or two, though he hadn’t told Hawke that. Being the overly affectionate family the Hawkes seemed to be, he was worried an admission of friendship will cause many more hugs from either of them. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Hawke the elder hugging him. And that was his problem right now.

He hadn’t confronted Hawke about what Bethany had revealed. How could he? What would be the point? Hawke’s flirtations stopped after that day, and since then, while affectionate and open, the only indication of any continued regard came in small compliments here and there, or a touch or a look that lasted a bit too long. Fenris wasn’t even sure of that last part since he hadn’t noticed those before he knew about Hawke’s secret crush. Besides, he sometimes caught himself staring at the man, just enjoying those features or wondering about his inner workings.

He checked his phone, there was a message from Anso.

“ _How’s life, little wolf?_ ”

Fenris wasn’t sure how to answer. He was pretty certain that in his entire life no one ever had a “crush” on him. Fenris had never the opportunity to explore his own feelings regarding anyone until the Tevinter fell. He had spent two years in rehabilitation and therapy and now his own emotions were something he had to face often, though never before in regards to… Love.

He stared at the ceiling, wondering if Hawke was asleep in the floor above. Fenris had been upstairs a few times a week as his own room had a toilet and sink, but not a shower or laundry. It never felt like a proper visit until today, just a reason to pass through in and out. Hawke hadn’t invited him up, and frankly, mostly left Fenris to his own devices. On Sundays, when they both had the majority of the day off (Fenris had started joining him on Sunday nights to prepare the store for the week), they kept to themselves. Hawke would go upstairs and do god knows what, and Fenris would usually head out into the city, stare at people and monuments for a few hours, eat some food, and return. The nature of the tiny store was such that they spent every moment in each other’s company, often with no one else in there for hours at a time. Even when people came in, it wasn’t one of those general stores that people spent an hour shopping at. There just wasn’t enough room or enough products, or frankly, enough customers. Hawke supplied them with the things they needed that would be hard to get where around there, or too expensive. So people popped in, grabbed what they needed, and left. A few regulars would stay and chat, but for the better part it was just Hawke and Fenris alone. He liked that. He enjoyed spending time with Hawke, even if he wished sometimes for longer periods of companionable silence. He enjoyed the man’s cheerful attitude, silently, secretly respected the crap out of him for smiling through the hardships life had thrown at him. Simultaneously respected and resented his generous nature that cared nothing for the harm it brought on himself. Fenris wouldn’t have minded getting to know the man more, he admitted to himself. As much as Hawke spoke, it was usually about vague things, anecdotes and trivial knowledge. He spoke rarely of his own feelings, or his own experiences. Fenris realized, at that thought, that he was perhaps being unfair. Hawke spoke far more about life than Fenris did. Fenris shared near to nothing with Hawke about his own life. The fact that he was a native was one of the few bits of information he had managed to gather about himself, what little chance he had to speak to his sister to fill in the blanks. Hawke still assumed that Fenris was an ex-convict, which was close, but not the truth of the matter. All Hawke knew was that Fenris had killed. He was alright with that. Understood because there were times you kill or you are killed. You kill or others die. You kill because continued living in that state is impossible. Fenris shuddered at the memories, pulled the blanket closer to his chin and rolled over to his side. It was Friday tomorrow. Perhaps it was time Fenris invited Hawke out to the city on Sunday, if only to spend time more casually with each other and sort out his own feelings about Hawke.

“ _Things are good._ ” He finally typed back to Anso, “ _You know me. No news is good news._ ”

Anso’s reply started with a smiley-face, and ended with a “ _good night._ ”

Fenris slept fitfully, nightmares waking him up shouting. If Hawke heard him, he said nothing the next morning. It wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last. Giving the usual wink before opening the door and asking him, with a smile, to get the papers from Merrill and get milk buns from the bakery to go along with the soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be up Tuesday-Wednesday-ish. Hope you enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning: Brief description of night terrors

Lentil soup flew out of the pot, actually running out earlier than usual. Varric’s newest song was a touching ballad. A tragic tale of a man who travels into the dreamworld to save the waking world. Fenris loved it and hated that a song could invoke more feeling in him that most events in his life could. His eyes, that morning, kept being drawn to Hawke. Hawke’s laughing face as he gave a mother an extra milk bun. Hawke’s compassionate smile as he refilled a spilled cup. Pouring out tea was Fenris’ job, so they spent the morning in close proximity behind the counter. Fenris was keenly aware of Hawke’s warm hand, brushing against his as he passed along the cups of tea to the customers. It bothered Fenris. It bothered him how wrong the world felt without Hawke to speak to, to look at. If this was love, it was like nothing he thought it would feel like. He thought it would be like a fire burning in his chest, a desperate need. It wasn’t. It was as though the world was wrong without Hawke in it, and right when he was around. Was this love? Fenris had no friends to ask, and Anso wasn’t that type of person to ask emotional questions of, so he approached Varric after the man finished up, counting the bills Hawke passed him, and returning a $5 bill Hawke had tried to sneak in. Fenris followed him outside when he was done.

“What’s up, broody?” He asked. He wasn’t substantially older than either Hawke or Fenris themselves, but seemed far more worldly. 

“Broody?” Fenris echoed back. It was the latest in a line of nicknames, but something about it made him feel it’ll be the one that sticks.

“Yeah.” Varric looked around, waved to Hawke through the barred glass, “You’re the strong silent type. You frown a lot and you talk little. Broody.”

“I have a question for you.” Fenris stalled. Varric put his earnings away and looked at him expectantly.

“Is it about Hawke?” 

Fenris gaped.

“It’s pretty obvious.” Varric shrugged. “You look at him all the time and for once you’re not scowling. It’s like you’re trying to figure out if he’s really there, or something.” Fenris wasn’t sure he understood, but managed to sputter an indignant,

“He is very strange! I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“You want me to to tell you if you like him? I just did.” Varric’s brows quirked in an amused question.

“I don’t! I mean, I  _ don’t know _ . I was staring at him because I’m trying to figure it out.” He protested, “He’s very strange.” he said again, as if Varric believed him the first time.

Varric looked away, adjusted Bianca’s strap on his shoulder. 

“Ok, here’s a small test. It’s not a polygraph or nothin’, but it’s a start.” He looked him in the eye and said, “Think about Hawke. Think about him being his usual goofy self.”

Fenris did this.

“There’s your answer.” The shorter man pointed at Fenris’ face. “There’s your answer.”

Fenris then realized he was smiling. It was a small, soft smile, and he couldn’t help it. It snuck onto his face while he wasn’t paying attention, like a spring bird fluttering in through an open window.

“You can’t help but smile when you think of someone you love.” Varric said, then thought of it and muttered to himself, “That’s a good line for a song.”

Without waiting for the reply or denial that was building on Fenris’ lips, he left, waving over his shoulder with a “Good luck, broody. Don’t hurt Hawke, he’s been through enough.”

 

Later that day the Carta men returned. It was a new month, after all. The same two, wearing cheap suits and cheaper cologne. Fenris hid in his room, as usual. It was at Hawke’s request. Had told him he “didn’t want him involved in any of it-- plausible deniability!”. Fenris wanted to be there when the thugs took whatever they wanted without paying, as well as Hawke’s hard-earned money. He wanted to scare them off, to stand opposed, and if all else failed to throw them through the window, possibly after having killed them. Hawke was cordiality itself to them, smiling and laughing at their weak jokes. Fenris knew all this because despite the warnings, he was spying on the interaction through the door, opened a crack, his eye a single green orb of rage.

“I heard this place might be closing soon.” One of them mentioned. He was taller of the two and wore a blue suit. The other wore a tan one. Hawke seemed surprised, but it was known that other businesses along this street received similar offers. Both of Hawke’s neighbors had actually already sold. They had been a laundromat and a squashed two-story residential. The community was dwindling.

“Word travels fast.” Hawke’s tone was passively cheerful, not really answering.

“You signed those papers yet?” Asked Blue Suit. “No.” Hawke replied, stuffing the bills into an envelop. He had to make up a bit of the money with change, so little was left in the till. Fenris grit his teeth in anger. “Not sure I’m going to, honestly.”

The men took the money, each grabbing a couple of drinks from the fridge to add to the chips they had taken already. They weren’t going to pay for those, of course. 

“I’d recommend you put some serious thought into signing it.” Said Tan, opening his bag of chips and munching on a handful. Crumbs fell unto the floor and Fenris’ fist shook.

“Could be trouble, otherwise.” 

They left.

 

Fenris spent the day trying to control his anger. He swept up the chips crumbs and for the rest of the day couldn’t look at the broom or at Hawke without feeling his blood boil. Hawke mercifully said very little.

_ “You’ll have good days and bad days.” _ his therapist had told him time and again,  _ “It’s ok to have bad days. You might even feel like you did on day one, but remember that you’ve come a long way, and that things will look better tomorrow.” _

Fenris was having a really bad day. A headache was blooming behind his eyes. His temper, ignited so early in the day, refused to return to its cage. The fire refused to stop burning. The thought of these men, petty as their actions had been, riled him to no end. He wanted to outright kill them. And he wanted to strangle Hawke for submitting to them. Wanted Hawke to fight back, to not be nice to them and pretend they weren’t criminals strongarming money from him. Fenris feared that if he brought it up and Hawke said “ _ It’s only money _ ” he might actually punch him. It’s wasn’t  _ about  _ the money, it was about standing up to oppressors. It was about Hawke never having enough money to fix up this place. It was about Hawke hiring a much unneeded employee instead of helping himself. He felt sick and tired of the poverty, misery and sacrifice he saw every day here. He knew he was just acting on his anger, and that in general he didn’t mind-- liked, actually-- seeing this tight knit community operate and come together. He liked seeing Hawke’s store be the beating heart of a struggling, but happy people. But, that day he just wanted to quit, call Anso, and take up that job he had been offered not all that long ago. He wanted to fight something, kill something. For a split second he remembered the arena, and almost longed for the simplicity of it. Longed for a clear, simple objective. Kill or be killed. A wolf vs. mere men. He stamped out that thought as quickly and effectively as he could.

“Fenris?” Hawke startled him, standing behind him. Fenris had nearly lashed out in surprise. “You’ve been sweeping that same spot for ten minutes.” Hawke observed, his eyes concerned.

“I…” Fenris put the broom away gently, like he might break it in a fit of rage, putting his other hand to his aching head, “I don’t feel well.” it wasn’t a lie. His head was throbbing and his body felt numb and cold. When he lowered his hand from his forehead he noted with some irritation and concern that it visibly shook. Hawke must have noticed as well, because he urged Fenris to go rest. It was just after lunch, and Fenris only managed two protests before the door to his room closed behind him. He wanted to throttle the other man for making decisions for him. Wanted to hurt him for making him confused, for being this kind person while Fenris’ pain only made him bitter and angry. Wanted to smack him for making this dump feel like a home. He removed his pants, wore Hawke’s old long-sleeved thermal shirt and crawled into bed, not trusting himself to accomplish anything else today.

He should have expected waking up in the middle of the night, tangled in the sheets, screaming. The world swam, arms grabbed at him, wanting to drag him back to the nightmare that was his previous life. The room he was in was a cell, and he clawed at his neck, wanting to remove the collar, but his hands passed through it like it wasn’t there, scratching at his skin instead. 

A tiny, faraway part of his mind played words like an old recording in the voice of his young therapist,

“ _ Night terrors… Forgive yourself for them. You are not weak, weakened, damaged. You are whole, hale, hearty. _ ”

Fenris knew he was screaming. What words and in what language he couldn’t say. 

 

He woke up with a start, bolting to a sitting position with his fists at the ready. He felt old sweat drying on his body, his breathing calming down. He was alone in his room, although there was a folded towel soaking in a bowl of water beside his bed, which he hadn’t brought there. Hawke, then. The night terror mixed with nightmares in his memory and he couldn’t be certain what was real and what was imagined. He reached tentatively to his neck. There were scratches there. Not many, but he had drawn blood. There was no blood on his fingers, and when he went to the mirror over the sink in the bathroom the wounds were clean. The front of his shirt bore telltale signs of sweat, but not blood. He tore it off and threw it in the hamper irritably. It was his favourite shirt. He missed, and it hit the edge of the hamper and slid to the floor. He wondered if he should feel happy that his instincts were dulling. Or perhaps he could blame it on his still-shaking hands. He washed them in the sink, making sure to use the coldest water the faucet could provide, then cupped one hand and drank from the running tap. He looked haggard, dark under his eyes, white tattoos bright against his skin in the dimness of the bathroom.

He would have to explain this to Hawke, who couldn’t keep his nose out of anything. Fenris had a key to his own room, but had never actually locked it. He didn’t like being in locked rooms, even if he had the key for them. Amusingly enough, this hang-up didn’t extend to being inside a locked building. That was fine so long as the room he was in was unlocked. He splashed water on his face, relieved himself in the toilet and then brushed his teeth. 

Usual morning ritual. 

It was Saturday. He didn’t need to be anywhere. He still fought off a headache, and though his anger was dulled by time, it was kept alive by a terrible night’s sleep. He wanted to go back to bed and sleep until Monday. Still, he felt he owed Hawke an apology if he had woken him up or worried him. These bad nights happened to him from time to time, and were likely to continue for the rest of his life. There were things all the therapy in the world can’t undo. He should have known better than to go to sleep quite so agitated. He knew his own triggers. He wasn’t thinking about it.

He wore pants and a fresh shirt (no other shirt he owned was as warm and comfortable as the one Hawke had given him, so when that one went to the wash, it was time to go upstairs to do laundry), and stepped out into the store.

Hawke’s laughter greeted him when he stepped out. Anders was stocking up on cat food, and Merrill was actually in the store, buying some of the blood-melon flavoured candy that sat on the shelf forever and a day. No one ever bought those. Who wanted to eat blood orange flavoured candy? Fenris could easily believe that Hawke stocked those for her exclusive taste.

Anders paid, giving Fenris that same disapproving look he always did and left. He waved to Hawke, said,

“You make sure to take care of yourself.”

Fenris waited until Merrill had also finished her business. She met his eye from behind her owlish glasses and pointed at Hawke, “You make sure he’s safe and sound, won’t you?” And left. Fenris cleared his throat.

Hawke turned to face him, still smiling brightly, and Fenris wanted to die where he stood. Hawke had a black eye. 

Like a grazing blow, a bruise, black and purple and red against the pale skin of his cheekbone.

It somehow made the red of the scar across his face stand out more. A part of him understood it wasn’t more than a bruise, but to him it stood out like the mark of Cain, condemning his own sin. All of the leftover agitation and anger of the last couple of days drained from him like a dam had broken, and the vacuum left in its wake was immediately filled with shame. 

“I did this.” Fenris breathed.

“No, I did by sticking my nose in your business.” Hawke immediately countered in a tone of a man who was expecting this conversation.

“Is it not an impression of my fist in your face?!” He demanded, masking shame behind familiar anger.

Hawke didn’t have a reply. “I should have known better than to try and interfere.” he valiantly tried to shift the blame unto himself, “You can’t really help night terrors in the moment. My mother used to have them. I just panicked and tried to help.”

Fenris was so angry at himself. So ashamed. So frustrated with living in his own goddamned tattooed skin. 

“I’m going into the city.” He breathed, fists clenched at his sides stiffly. 

“Err… Have fun!” Hawke tried. Fenris nearly ran out the door, bell jingling with distress as he flung the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, I'm familiar with, night terrors, not so much. I tried to do some research about them, and I only touch on them a little, so I hope I've approached the topic in a respectful way. If you feel I've done them an injustice, please feel free to let me know!
> 
> This one was a bit of a shorter chapter. Next one should be up over the weekend.  
> Hope you're continuing to enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

He spent most of the day feeling like an idiot and outcast by the water. He was sitting in the parking lot of Waterfront station, watching the waves, the boats, the seaplanes. Watching clouds break over the North Shore and roll across the bay into Coal Harbour. It was intermittently sunny, and he regretted not wearing the thermal shirt, despite it being dirty. Sunny just meant less clouds to keep the city blanketed in warmth. An arctic wind blew from the north. Not too much still left in winter. Soon it would be spring.

He didn’t want to go back. Every time he thought of Hawke’s smiling face with that bruise under his eye he was overcome with nearly intolerable shame. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing, trying to work out the irritation. The scratches on his neck pinched and throbbed dully, reminding him that some night terrors followed you into the day. Reminding him he could run as far as he wanted, but never outrun himself. He lunched at a cheap little burger place, forcing himself to eat rather than being actually hungry. Spent some time looking at the silly tourist shirts in the windows of stores, reminded of Hawke’s terrible puns, or dreaming of affording one of those fluffy coats while his fingers froze. He sat on a bench and texted his therapist, for once.

“ _Had night terrors._ ” He wrote, not sure if he should have led with anything more pleasant. “ _Hope I’m not bothering you._ ” He added after a moment.

_“Reaching out is preferable to isolation._ ” Was the reply, then, “ _You’re strong. Anso speaks and I hear how strong you are._ ”

Fenris huffed. Bad days didn’t only ruin days, they also worked hard to make you forget you ever had good days.

“ _Yeah great I punched my boss._ ” His thumbs moved as quickly as he could type, feeling frustrated it was still sometimes a challenge to spell a word, then quickly again to add,

“ _Accidentally. During the night._ ”

“ _Night spent in the same bed?_ ”

Fenris jumped when he read that, and forced his thumbs to type as fast as they ever had,

“ _NO._ ” that was in all caps, “ _No he must have heard me I sleep in the room under his apartment._ ” The agreement was that he try to text as grammatically correct as he could, for practice, but sometimes panic made this habit slip. Like now.

“ _Wait,_ ” replied his therapist, “ _A boss that comes, checks, cares, comforts?_ ”

“ _He’s a--_ ” Fenris wasn’t sure how to answer that. He erased those words and wrote instead,

“ _Yes he’s very nosy._ ” He hated it the moment he sent it, but it was too late.

“ _I see. You apologized?_ ”

“ _No.”_ Then he added, _“Not yet._ ”

“ _Talking can help the pain. I’m here if that’s needed._ ” said the therapist. Fenris had fond feelings for the man-- boy, more like it. A prodigy of an empath. He thought about this, holding the phone to his chin as he looked up, searching his own feelings. His headache had ebbed, and the shame was at a tolerable level. He didn’t feel like talking about his feelings over the phone, sitting in a public place. It wasn’t the right time.

“ _No I’m ok. Just thought I’d give you an update._ ”

“ _Happiness is freedom, and you are free. Remember that. Hold on to that."_

Sighing, he slipped his phone into his back pocket and got up, stretching the kinks out of his spine. Even though nothing was mended or advised (other than an apology) Fenris felt better. His therapist hadn’t freaked out. His actions weren’t horrific. An apology could fix this. These were great comforts all by themselves.

He got himself a bubble tea, and then, because he didn’t know what to do in these situations, he got one for Hawke as well. He had no idea what the man liked in terms of tea, tapioca bubbles or otherwise, other than the green tea he served at the shop.

He carefully walked back in. It was about 15 minutes before the store closed. Hawke was alone in the store, seated in his usual spot behind the counter, scribbling angrily at his ledger and scratching his head and scratching out whatever he had just written. Receipts were scattered about, including a few bills. As Fenris approached, he could easily read the large “Overdue” on at least two of them. The man gave him a cautious smile when he approached. Fenris tried to convince himself that the black eye really wasn’t all that bad upon second inspection. Just a bruise under the eye. He extended the hand holding the bubble tea and the comically large, pink straw that was wide enough to convey the bubbles and sharp enough to pierce the ceran seal on the plastic cup. Hawke was surprised, then his expression melted into delight and he took the cup.

“Aw, bubble tea! Win!” He said brightly, covering the top of the straw as he plunged it in through the plastic. He took a few slurps and his brows shot up, “What flavour is this? It’s good!”

“Milky Wheat Tea.” Fenris found his voice finally. That smile was unfair. It was a weapon of mass distraction.

“Wheat? I didn’t know it was a flavour. What does that even mean?” He slurped happily, the tapioca spheres traveling up and he chewed on them. Fenris tried hard not to stare at the lips wrapped around the straw “Haven’t had bubble tea in years.”

“You live down the street from at least three bubble tea places.”

“I don’t go out much.”

This, Fenris realized, was something he hadn’t thought of. He himself went out every weekend. He assumed Hawke had… What? Other friends, maybe? Or a social life? It wasn’t the time for dwelling on it, though, and he stopped procrastinating and said,

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Hawke’s lopsided grin was sweet and patient.

“It’s cool. Forget about it. How’s your neck?”

Fenris’ hand went to the scratches, self-conscious about the the marks, like they were a sign of momentary weakness.

“Fine.” he croaked. “Need help with that?”

Hawke looked down at the ledger. “I saw what you did while I was sick. It’s like you actually understand how to do this!” He stood up, extended the pen. Fenris and him switched spots, and they spent the rest of the afternoon in reversed positions, Fenris behind the counter, Hawke sweeping, humming to himself.

It was after Fenris helped him sort out the money in the till after they closed, that Fenris finally mastered his embarrassment and irritation with himself enough to speak. He said,

“Hawke.”

Fenris swallowed with difficulty when the man’s curious eyes rested on him. He lost his nerve. For a couple of moments he blinked at the man, mind blanking. He wanted to find another question, something harmless, but couldn’t. His mouth started asking the question before he had given it permission to.

“Would you like to go out with me on Sunday?” At Hawke’s eyes growing very wide, Fenris quickly added, “I mean, hang out. Outside. Go someplace. Together. Hanging out.”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like a date, but couldn’t bring himself to outright say “just as friends”, either. A part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to set clear boundaries of only friendship. What if he _did_ want it to be a quasi-date? A date without calling it that, without the stress of it? He had never dated. Wouldn’t know how to start. Never considered it an option for himself. Wouldn’t have imagined he’d even be thinking of this when he had started working here. Hawke’s unfair smile sent further electric shocks down Fenris’ spine, where they settled down to dance a jig in a nervous stomach.

“Where were you thinking of going?”

It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. Fenris managed to convince his dry mouth to speak,

“There’s a shuttle that can take us to that suspension bridge. I hear it’s beautiful.”

If Fenris didn’t know Hawke any better, he’d swear the man paled,

“Err…” He looked away, smile faltering. He put the broom away and approached the counter where Fenris still sat.

“If you don’t like heights we can take the bus to the Seawall in the park. I haven’t been yet.”

Hawke still looked distressed, and his smile turned a little forced when he said,

“Hanging out with you sounds awesome like totally awesome but how about I invite you upstairs and we watch a movie on the laptop or something?” It was completely a run on sentence and lacked any of the confidence or silliness of a usual Hawke-grade reply. Fenris narrowed his eyes at the evasion.

“You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.” Fenris stated, tersely.

Hawke was over his crush.

That’s why the flirts stopped. That’s why he hadn’t done anything.

Any man would be insane to like someone after witnessing them have night terrors and then getting punched in the face.

He was stupid to think this and even more foolish to suggest this. He had gone and made things strange and awkward and--

“God, I’m sorry!” Hawke buried his face in his hands, looking genuinely miserable. “I’m screwed up!” He muffled into his hands.

“What?” Still a bit harsher than he intended.

Hawke didn’t look up, but spoke,

“I’m not good at going places.” He took a shuddering breath and finally met Fenris’ green eyes from under his lashes with sad, sad dark amber eyes. “I really _really really_ want to go out with you--” He flushed, then quickly corrected, “--hang out with you, but I’m screwed up. I’m sorry!” Fenris just stared, not sure what brought this on. “I don’t really go places. I have this crazy fear that if I go too far I won’t have a house to come back to.” He looked truly wretched, “It’s crazy and stupid but I get anxiety attacks if I try…”

“What about our trip to IKEA?” Fenris wondered, “It wasn’t exactly close by!”

Hawke looked at his hands, fingers knotting into each other nervously. Face still flushed and his expression one that Fenris understood all too well; The look of shame, of embarrassment, of having to confess a part of yourself you fear others will judge you for. It struck close to home.

“It was a quick trip, and even then I had to take the evening to freak out a little. I felt really bad that you had to build it all yourself, but I seriously couldn’t leave the house for hours.”

“I had no idea.” Fenris admitted, “I thought…” He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. It’s alright.” He put on his best face. He didn’t pity Hawke, he understood. Understood far better than Hawke realized.

“You’re not screwed up.” He assured, for once his voice confident and strong, channeling words that had been spoken to him countless times, “You’re not broken.”

Hawke’s eyes met his own again, sweet, sad and soft.

Fenris tried, “Is there a place you’d like to go? Even if it’s your apartment?”

“Gastown… Gastown could work, so long as we don’t go too far…” Hawke suggested with such hope in his voice that it nearly choked Fenris’ heart. The nearby touristy neighborhood was one of his favourites, and he smiled at Hawke’s lessening discomfort. “I’d like that.”

“Then it’s a date!” Hawke exclaimed, trying to shake off his earlier embarrassment only to fall into more of it. He covered his face again, skin flushing red between his fingers. “You know what I mean.” He muttered. Fenris chuckled.

Somehow this made Fenris like Hawke all the better. Not just this archon of kindness, there were scars deeper than just sadness in the man. To say that finding him struggling made him feel better was a nasty thought, but it was more akin to knowing his flaws and the courage and hangups increased his admiration for the man. Hawke, despite Fenris’ previous, childish assumptions, was not impossibly stronger than him. Didn’t go through horrors without being scathed. He was no stronger nor weaker than Fenris. Both learning, both struggling.

Fenris was eager for their outing like little else could excite him. A pleasantly eager energy sitting in his chest cavity. Even though he saw the man every day, it felt like Sunday would be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're finally going to go on a date-its-not-a-date!  
> Next chapter should be up mid-week.  
> Thanks for the comments and I hope you enjoy!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Memories of non-con. Anxiety attack.

Fenris had slept fitfully the night before, nerves triggering doubts, and those in turn triggering nightmares. He wasn’t worth the time. He was going to screw this up. A man like himself didn’t get _friends_. He had done too much. Had too much done to him. Didn’t know how to make or keep friends. Bound to do all the wrong things. He woke up groggy and foggy headed, but that excited energy in his chest blunted most of the nasty feelings by the time he had finished his quick breakfast.

 

They bundled up, Hawke in his long jacket and a tuque with a woolly puff on top, and Fenris in his old hoodie with the thermal shirt underneath, a pair of black jeans with the only splash of colour being a scarf Hawke lent him, in bright red.

They stepped out into the city.

“I hope this cold snap goes away soon!” Hawke exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder towards the receding store and stuffing hands into his pockets. “I want you to see spring in Vancouver. It’s the best.”

Fenris smiled, understanding when Hawke glanced over his shoulder again a moment later.

“You tell me if you want to head back, alright?” the shorter man offered. Hawke caught himself, flinched, and gave an apologetic smile. Fenris said, “Promise me you’ll say if you’re not feeling well. I don’t want you to suffer for no reason.”

Whatever Hawke muttered deep into his collar was too muffled to understand.

“Was that a ‘yes, Fenris, I’ll let you know’? I couldn’t hear you over your own petulance.”

Hawke coughed out a laugh, giving Fenris a sideways glance, “It was ‘I’m sorry I’m screwed up I’ll do my best not to spoil the day’.”

It occurred to Fenris that while Hawke knew he suffered from nightmares and the occasional night terror, he knew nothing else of his struggles. To Hawke it must seem like Fenris was overall whole and hale. The man kept on glancing over his shoulder, and when he thought Fenris wasn’t looking he caught him clenching and unclenching his fists nervously, like he had done that day on the trip to IKEA.

Arctic winds blew the remnants of autumn’s leaves into the air, sea air salty and chilled. Stark, cold sun contrasting colours and giving hibernating trees hope for spring. The cobblestones of Kirkwall street switching to asphalt concrete, then melted into the rusted cobblestones of the historic Gastown district.

It had been less than a half hour since they headed out, but Fenris wasn’t sure if Hawke was up to it. Never imagined the man faced such a struggle. He had headed out, but never for long, and never very far. Went to get groceries from the store, but that was a few blocks away, and he had always left Fenris to watch the store. Went to help that man with the car, but that was only a block away, and Hawke could never deny someone in need. Took him to IKEA even though he admitted to needing hours afterwards to calm down.

They bought a cup of tea each at one of the veritable plethora of coffee shops lining the touristy neighborhood,

“Are you alright?” He asked. Hawke was looking pale, and despite the chill, the man looked like he was sweating. His breathing was shallow and nervous.

“Fine!” He chirped, doing more to convince Fenris of the opposite. He rubbed a hand over his hair in frustration, mussing his dark locks, “I really want to do this-- hang out with you and all that.”

Fenris frowned. He could very well imagine what Hawke was going through. If Fenris insisted that they return, Hawke might feel that he pitied him, or thought him weaker than what plagued him. If he didn’t, and Hawke had a full blown anxiety attack… Well, Fenris would feel awful. He knew what those could be like.

What a screwed up world, he couldn’t help but think, that what appeared so easy to others would be such a struggle for them. Living as free men, exploring their city, hanging out, sleeping normally…

He decided on letting Hawke set the pace.

“Listen, Hawke.” Fenris started, cupping hands around the warm paper cup as they exited the coffee shop. He had gotten himself a London Fog, and Hawke sipped his Caramel Macchiato, looking at Fenris with curiosity. “I feel I should tell you… about me.” They started walking aimlessly, slowly, side by side.

Hawke drew back, surprised “You don’t have to.” He was quick to assure, “You’re Fenris regardless of whatever happened.”

Though touched by the kind words, Fenris spoke,

“I’m not an ex-con.”

A few confused blinks from Hawke.

“You’re not?”

“No.” Fenris took a deep breath, looked out towards the city, beautiful and cold in the new year’s winter sun. “I was-- am-- a… victim…” The words were cautiously formed, never spoken out loud before, and they were shy to come out to face the day. Suddenly he felt he had to force his mouth to make the correct shapes. He took in another shuddering breath, looking down at the steam escaping the drinking hole of the lid of his tea. “...of human trafficking.”

He heard the soft gasp from Hawke, then felt a hand on his shoulder. Didn’t mind it, felt warmth and strength flowing through. He thought just saying the words wouldn’t be all that difficult, but he was nearly shaking from the effort. Just words, no descriptions yet, no memories shared. Still so difficult. Unexpected was the tidal wave of emotions admitting it caused. He continued nonetheless, “The Tevinter Imperium came to our town, somewhere in the north of the province. I was stolen from my family when I was a child, taken down to the States. I had been told that I protected my sister, so she had managed to escape.” He swallowed with difficulty, eyes not leaving the cup. He sipped. Legs walking on automatic, following wherever Hawke was leading. People and places blurs of background noise. “I was sold and resold, until I was… bought… by the Tevinter Imperium. They were a crime syndicate. Gone now.” He had to fight the urge to resort to one word explanations, an old habit. “I was raised to fight and to kill, to protect them, like you would raise an vicious attack dog.” Another shaky breath. Another sip. “Two years ago… I turned on them. I killed the head of the Tevinter.” He had to take yet another shuddering breath, “And pretty much anyone else who walked into that room.” He chuckled to himself, though there was no humour in it, “The commotion drew the police and the Feds and the whole of the Tevinter Imperium imploded after that. I gave testimony. Knew all their dirt.” He finally dared to look up and look at Hawke. The latter’s eyes were large and beautifully sad. No pity, but compassion. No anger, but sympathy. That hand was still on his shoulder, and Fenris felt that its removal might undo him, that he’d fall apart without that warmth. He hadn’t said the words like this, not ever. The hands around the cup shook slightly, only partly from the cold. “That was two years ago.”

Hawke lifted his hand from his shoulder, but before Fenris could crumble he walked closer, wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders and holding him close. It felt good. It felt, for lack of a better word, like friendship. The man smelled like sunshine.

They walked like that for what felt like a long time, watching the world go by. Hawke’s warmth was more than just a physical thing beside him. It engulfed him, soothed the ragged edges of his heart. He felt a safety and a comfort he hadn’t felt, perhaps ever. They sipped their drinks as the world revolved around them.

After a long while Fenris turned to speak, wanting to know what Hawke thought of it all, but his thoughts all evaporate when their eyes met in such proximity. He could see the maple swirls in Hawke’s warm chocolate eyes, the flash of colour across the bridge of the nose, the remaining bruise under his eye. Soft lips that quirked into a lopsided smile as he looked at them. Fenris must have been a sight, flushed cheeks, white-ink tattoos stark against his dark skin, climbing their way out of his bundled clothes, green eyes wide with wonder. He pulled back a little before the heat rising in his chest tricked him into doing something foolish.

“So there you have it.” He said, coughing into his closed hand as he realized what it must have looked like, the two of them in such closeness. It was a cold day, after all. They were just cold, that’s all. Hawke smiled at him, eyes glinting,

“Thank you for telling me.” He said, “Who’s Anso, then?”

Fenris made to drink from his cup, but realized he had drained it already, somewhere down memory lane. “He’s FBI. When the police stormed the building and found me, I hadn’t thought there was anything left for me, the Tevinter’s lethal pet. Anso was the one who thought I could be… saved. Helped. He’s a good guy.”

Hawke nodded his understanding.

“So what were you doing the past two years?” His deep voice was gentle, genuine.

“Two years of intense therapy.” He admitted. He didn’t see it as a mark of shame, but of strength. The road had been, and still was, hard. “My therapist, Cole, is a miracle worker, the very spirit of compassion, that one. No matter how many times I snapped at him or even turned violent…”

He looked at his hands around the cup, lines and blooms of stark ink. He hadn’t asked for these, hadn’t wanted them, but like cattle was marked as property…

He felt better now, having shared a bit of himself. Felt fantastic that Hawke’s face was still full of warmth. No pity, no fear. He felt lighter than he had in months. He looked around them.

“Hawke.” he said. Perhaps it was something in his tone, a deadpan or confused quality that startled the other man out of his own reverie, he looked around as well, then burst out in helpless laughter, bordering on the hysterical.

They were half a block away from the store, back on Kirkwall street. There was the awning stating “Champion on Kirkwall street” with the rest illegible from this distance. Mindlessly walking, Hawke’s feet had returned them to their private sanctuary. By the time Hawke was done laughing, he wasn’t laughing anymore. Bent over in half, leaning hands on his knees and breaths coming in ragged, open-mouthed gasps. Fenris put a careful hand on his shoulder, wanting to provide some comfort in return.

“Let’s go back in.” He offered after almost asking if he was alright. He wasn’t alright. Hawke’s hands were shaking so strongly, Fenris put his hand over the man’s when he tried putting the key in the lock. He took the keys and did so instead. Once inside Hawke collapsed to his knees on the floor, gasping like the world outside was water, and this was the only beach in sight.

“I’m sorry.” He gasped, then repeated himself again and again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorry…” Fenris put his hand on the man’s back again, loosening his scarf and sitting down beside him. He rubbed a hand on his friend’s back, saying nothing for a long while. When Hawke’s shaking subsided, and he gave Fenris a miserable, lopsided grin, Fenris preempted any apologies or self-deprecation with a,

“How about some movies on your laptop?”

That devastatingly beautiful smile returned, cresting the scar into a smile with it.

“Yeah,” He croaked, voice choked with emotion. Was it residue of his panic, relief from being back, something else entirely or all of the above, Fenris didn’t know.

They climbed the stairs slowly, Hawke still shaky. He fell bonelessly onto the old couch, just breathing. Fenris stood awkwardly for a moment, before deciding to put a kettle on for some green tea.

“Well done, me.” Hawke said, more miserable than amused. One of those ‘better to laugh than to cry’ moments. “Well done.”

“Everything is alright.” Fenris assured, putting a teabag in each cup and waiting for the kettle to get going.

“Yeah, everything is peachy. That was an awesome--” There was an obvious pause where words obviously changed to be finished with “--outing.”

“The drinks were good.” Fenris offered, placatingly.

“They were? I have no idea what I did with mine.”

Fenris thought about it,

“I think it’s on the floor downstairs. I can go get it for you.”

“I think it’s empty.” Hawke mumbled.

They were quiet for a while until the kettle was ready and he poured them each a cup. When he brought it, Hawke took one gratefully, smiling a little more calmly now.

The laptop took about seven minutes to boot up, and it had just enough processing power to run Netflix if you turned off every other program and prayed a little. Hawke explained it was Bethany’s Netflix account, and she allowed him to use it.

“Ugh, Canadian Netflix is only slightly better than Canadian Amazon, and Canadian Amazon is crap.” He stuck out his tongue at the device. He wanted to show Fenris a show called Psyche, since it was filmed in the city, and Fenris half-watched as zaniness ensued. While he had only been exposed to television after his liberation from the Tevinter, he had watched a lot of it in the two years that followed. It was more of an educational tool for him than anything. He got to see what families should look like, what friendships should look like, what proper behavior was and what strange behavior was.

He remembered the man he was lent to, once, at his master’s whim. That man who had put in contrast how insane his life had been, how awful… He had been a good man. The first good man Fenris had ever met. Foggy was his name. He spoke to him, asked his opinion. At night, he let him sleep, during the day, he let him eat. Despite admiring eyes, he never once commanded Fenris to his bed. Despite mistakes, he had never hit him. Fenris resented him at first, but at the end of that brief month beside him, he had learned to respect him. To have respect and not fear in his heart was a first, then. Memories of those who did touch, of wet heat from another person in disgustingly close proximity… who knew body heat could feel like scorching, burning anguish. The urge to tear it away from you, to run…

 

He startled awake in the dark to a strange sound. Took long moments to orient himself. There was that sound that woke him, again. Not daring to move a muscle, his eyes darted around, his senses going into overdrive trying to sort out where he was. There was the laptop, image frozen. Hawke’s leg was on the table, not far from the spacebar key where he must have paused the show with his ankle. Fenris’ neck was sore and he was in a funny angle, nearly 45 degrees tilt, his head and shoulders pressed against… Hawke, what else? That rhythmic noise that had woken him was snoring. The large man’s head was tilted sharply back over the backrest of the couch. One arm on his stomach and the other casually over Fenris’ shoulders. The house was dark, and Fenris wondered how late it was. They had left just before noon. How long was he asleep for?! Peering at the computer’s clock, it was only 4pm, but the winter sun was early to set this time of year, tricking him into thinking it was later. He rubbed his eyes, and the snoring stopped with a startled “bwa?” as Hawke twitched awake.

“Sorry.” Fenris said, meant to encompass both falling asleep and waking him. Hawke rubbed his neck, obviously stiff from the uncomfortable position.

“I guess we were both tired, huh?” Hawke said, smiling apologetically. “What a date-- day.” The two words were similar enough that Fenris honestly couldn’t be certain which was said, but he definitely corrected himself. He was too groggy to respond, thankful that his dreams hadn’t turned violent in such close proximity to the man. He blinked at that easy smile directed at him, felt the heat from the man beside him.

Despite the darkness in the room, the man still felt like sunlight. That scar, like a splash of colour on the pale skin. Those eyes, like pools of cocoa in the dimness. Here was a chocolate he could never get sick of.

Fenris kissed him.

Body acting without any higher authority or command from the brain. Lips tasted divine pressed to his, immediately softening and giving back. Hawke’s hands slowly around him, one at the small of his neck to bring him closer, the other on the curve of his waist. One of Fenris’ hand cupped a bearded cheek, the other supporting his weight on the sofa. The man made a small sound, between a grunt and a sigh, and it sent a shiver down Fenris’ whole body, heat spilling from their connection to every corner of his flesh, tingling at his fingertips. Mouths opened to explore more thoroughly, Fenris leaning over the larger man, spread out under him on the couch. It was a fantasy he hadn’t dared to entertain, but wanted like he wanted air.

His heart hammered in its chest, never knowing he could carry such feelings for another person… So much…

Then, like the old fuse box downstairs, overloaded and snapping, Fenris felt his feelings flee in a rush. Like yanking a light out of a socket before the bulb burnt. Like running away and not stopping until things were dead inside again. Memories came flooding back now; all the reasons not to do this, not to care, not to be cared for.

Fenris drew back. Perhaps something in his expression showed his tumbling thoughts, because the contentment on his partner’s face quickly turned to concern, then to horror.

“Oh god.” He said, “Oh god, you’re my employee! I’m the worst employer in the world!” He drew back as well, eyes wide in the dark, pupils huge, “Oh god! I had flirted with you, then I realized ‘I’m his employer!’ and then I stopped and I thought I was being a good employer but today I totally wasn’t thinking!” Fenris just stared at him and his verbal expulsions, “I’m so sorry! We’ll never talk about this again. I just-- you were-- I mean, I loved every second of this, and I won’t lie that I wasn’t dreaming of this, but you’re my employee and I’m--”

A hand on the man’s mouth was the only way Fenris could think to stop him. His body felt cold and clammy, all of the sudden. The heat that had permeated it before frozen over as though it had been doused with liquid nitrogen.

“You say ‘never talk about this again’ and in the same breath keep talking about it.”

“Mmf!” Was the distressed reply from behind Fenris’ tattooed hand. Hawke made no effort to move it, or to move at all, mortified with himself.

“You did nothing wrong. It’s me. It’s all me.” He looked away, unable to face the concern on that face, trying to calm his own breathing. His skin felt clammy and burning at the same time, his emotions a void. “It’s me. I’m-- I can’t. Not right now. It’s too much. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

Memories of touch still too fresh in his mind, and he withdrew his hand. He felt he needed a shower, and was ashamed to have those thoughts when the man next to him was all that was safe and caring. He shuddered.

“I’m going to take a shower.” and he all but ran out of the apartment with the excuse of getting a change of clothes from downstairs.

 

Standing in his own little bathroom, he met his reflection in the mirror. He was attracted to Hawke. Worse, he also cared about the man a great deal. There weren’t doubts about either of those facts anymore. Swallowing hard, the admission caused a flood of jumbled thoughts and feelings. Excitement, fear, confusion, affection, disgust, protection, shame. He splashed cold water on his face, suppressing shivers. Now that he had run he didn’t want to go back up the stairs. Couldn’t look the man in the eye. The sensation of those kisses still lingering on his lips, the ghosts of Hawke’s fingers on his body. Delight and shame, desire and escape.

Action, reaction.

Fear, respect.

The past, the present.

To run, to fight.

To run, or to fight.

To return to a time before all these tumbling feelings. To run and not feel.

His own face in the darkened mirror, memories of unwanted fingers, hands, lips. Fingers that trailed burning disgust, hands that grabbed and held and pulled and took. Lips that ordered and smirked and dripped malice. Now, a struggling affection trying to chase away the repulsion. But the care was too young, and the disgust too experienced.

Two years of therapy but his fist still connected with the mirror.

 

He opened the door to Hawke’s apartment, now lit. Hawke was in the kitchen, rummaging through the meager offerings of his fridge.

“When you come out of the shower I thought I could make us some breaded chicken breast. It’s the last day for the meat,” His voice betrayed only a tiny bit of nerves. A valiant effort. “and I make a mean chicken schnitzel…” His voice trailed off as he straightened and turned to face his guest. Fenris could only imagine what he have must looked like. Leaning against the closed door, the fringes of his unruly bangs still damp from the water he had splashed on his face, his head down, hand wrapped in a now bloody towel. Hawke rushed over, face going pale.

“What happened? How _sharp_ are your clothes?!” He tried for a joke, and Fenris managed a half-smile and an exhaled chuckle before he slid against the door to the floor, letting Hawke remove the towel to inspect the gash on the back of his hand. Hawke dashed away to get the first aid kit. When he returned he dropped to the floor and silently started tending to him. Fenris wouldn’t have returned to Hawke’s apartment if he had medical supplies of his own. Heart felt like it had just come out of the tumble dryer. He watched brows knit together, trying to gauge if the bleeding could be staunched with what supplies he had, or if stitches would be needed. Gauze was quickly wrapped around a pad. Rough, large fingers, nimble and warm. A skimming touch here, a brush there. Vinning white tattoos bisected by an angry red gash. No amount of scarring diminished them, no amount of blood tarnished them. He was too numb to fight now. He let the other man work and didn’t say a word. Neither of them did.

After he was done, Hawke grabbed the injured hand at the wrist and held it up. At the confused reaction he explained, “Keep your hand up, it helps reduce the bleeding.”

Fenris, tired like he hadn’t napped earlier, or had ever slept in his life, leaned forward to bury his face in Hawke’s shoulder.

Despite two years of work, of being told he wasn’t broken, that saying ‘screwed up’ was unhelpful, he said,

“We’re both _really_ screwed up, huh?”

Hawke chuckled mournfully, and he felt the vibrations pleasantly rumbling through his chest. The large man wrapped his free hand around him, bringing warmth and comfort, not disgust, this time. For now. Fenris felt lips press to the top of his head, heard the words spoken through a rueful smile,

“Best. Date. Ever.”

He didn’t correct himself. Stopped trying to hide it, and Fenris didn’t protest.

They chuckled like fools, because it was better than crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date that started out ok, then went from bad to worse. They're both a mess, aren't they?  
> I am really excited to post this chapter. I like it. ^_^;; There's one other chapter I'm looking forward to posting, and you'll know it when you read it!  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

Blessedly, the cut was healing up nicely on its own.

Monday came and there was no undue awkwardness between them. Returned to their routines without mention of the events of the day before. Perhaps their smiles lingered too long, along with their looks. Perhaps accidental brushes were cherished, but that was all. Fenris couldn’t handle anything more right now. Too little in him to offer, too much threat of loss. Both of them needing stability, neither willing yet to rock the boat. Neither wanting to risk, both comfortable with a warmth that perhaps there’s someone nearby who cares.

For now, that was enough.

 

Another normal day, two weeks past. Rainy but at least rain meant it was less cold.

Hawke saw them in the window and quickly, urgently, asked that Fenris hide in his room.

“It’s not time for another payment. I don’t know why they’re here!” he whispered, an edge of panic in his voice as Fenris reluctantly shuffled past him to go into his room just as the door jangled open.

“Hello!" he greeted them, Fenris in his usual spot, a crack in the door oozing hatred at the men.

“Yeah, yeah.” Said Tan, approaching without the usual swagger of confidence. “Look," he leaned on the counter, what little empty room was available taken by his elbow. He was a large man. “We’ve given you plenty of time. Give us the papers and there’ll be no trouble.”

“Papers?” Hawke was all innocence.

“C’mon, Hawke. You’ve known us for years. Don’t make us do this.”

“Of course.” Much to Fenris’ mortification, Hawke turned and produced the sale papers, giving them to the man. It took every ounce of self control to not burst out there and protest.

Tan looked the papers over, making a face,

“You’re a regular joker." he spat, giving the papers back, “We want the papers _signed_.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Hawke smiled cordially, drawing out the word needlessly, “You should have been more specific. In that case I can’t help you. I don’t have a pen.”

Tan produced a pen from his lapel pocket and gave it to Hawke. He took it, then immediately tossed it over his shoulder, his expression and tone unchanged,

“Sorry. Don’t have a pen.”

Tan pinched the bridge of his nose, tone reasonable and exasperated, “This place is a dump. You can take a bit of money for it, or you can get nothing for it. Either way, you know how this is going to play out.”

“I’d rather be poor, and fight to keep this place.” His smile didn’t waver, though a wise man would have seen the steel in his eyes. Fenris couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the strength. He was immensely proud of him.

Tan sighed, “We’ll be back tomorrow. We hope you’ll change your mind by then.”

They left, taking nothing for once.

Fenris stepped out, watching the smile melt away from Hawke’s face as he held his head up with palms on his sideburns, leaning heavily on the counter.

“Am I being stubborn?" he breathed when Fenris approached. “They’re right. They can take it either way. I don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“No, you don’t.” Fenris replied, “You have two.”

Hawke chuckled.

“The community needs a cheap place to shop.” He protested. Fenris tilted his head in a ‘maybe’ gesture, “The community isn’t so poor that it needs as much free stuff as you give away, but yes.”

“Every little bit helps. Money’s tight for everyone.”

“Isn’t ‘ _just money_ ’, though?” Fenris countered with a smirk. Hawke had no reply except to chuckle again.

“If I had the money I’d open a cheap eatery. Where soup and sandwiches flow at the drop of a toonie.”

“You mean you’ll _charge_ people what things are worth, and not take losses with every purchase?!” Fenris pretended to be appalled.

Another chuckle, “I would! If I knew it was sustainable, if I knew someone else was taking care of the community’s needs, I would gladly make a small, tiny, profit." he brought his index finger and thumb together, separated by a pea-sized space. His smile faded again, “But there’s no one who cares. No one who’s willing to provide to these people. They need this store.”

“ _You_ need this store.”

A pause. Hawke looked out the window.

“That, too.”

 

Fenris barely slept that night, thinking of the threat in that man’s voice. Thinking of all the terrible things he knew from experience horrible people could do to good people. The thought of even the least of these done to Hawke curdled his blood. He considered reaching out to Anso, but what could he say? Anso was an American. Perhaps he could reach out to Canadian authorities? That would take longer than a day. He cursed himself for not thinking of involving him earlier, but he hadn’t considered that things might escalate. Somehow was caught up in Hawke’s idea that the problem would go away if he stood his ground.

He picked up his phone and typed a few sentences, trying to explain the situation. It wasn’t that late where Anso was, and he replied quickly.

“ _Sounds like trouble_.” Anso sent back, for once not adding any sort of emoticon. “ _I’ll look into this and call you tomorrow, around 6pm. Works?_ ”

“ _Yeah thanks_.”

It was the best he could hope for at the moment.

 

Not long after he had finally managed to doze off he was woken to the sound of glass breaking. He was out of bed and into the store in seconds. One of the large windows on the front of the store had been smashed, the large rock used to do this had hit one of the shelves, knocking product on the floor to mingle with glass shards. A group of men and teens stood outside, congratulating each other. Fenris dashed to the door, quickly unbolting it and facing the group. On the way he heard quickened steps down the stairs as Hawke was decending. Fenris was wearing the thermal shirt, and a pair of loose pants. Barefoot in the middle of the cobblestone street by the time Hawke had made it to the downstairs door.

“Why?!” Fenris demanded in a bark.

The men scoffed, their leader, a blond with facial tattoos, stepped forward.

“Who are you, please?" he asked in a lilting voice, heavy hispanic accent. Fenris didn’t have time to answer as Hawke opened the front door.

“Zevran,  _what the crap?!_ " he shouted, not brave enough to walk outside without shoes, what with all the broken glass. At least he was wearing a bathrobe.

The blond turned and shrugged at Hawke,

“Sorry, amigo," he said with some sincerity, “We were paid, and the Crows do what the Crows are paid to do. We are, unfortunately, to smash all the windows and break many things.”

“And if I put up a fight?” Fenris growled, more than eager to make true to his threat.

The man called Zevran looked at him a moment, considering.

“If you were to... _dissuade_ us, I suppose we’d have to be content with what we’ve done. The Crows are professionals, but not we were not paid for any resistance.”

Fenris’ face darkened with imminent pleasure of violence.

“No, please--!” Was all Hawke had time to say before Fenris was a blur towards the members of the Crows.

These were some of the most feared street thugs of the area, but Fenris was a living weapon. Though his past best left forgotten and he delighted in the mundane, he was conditioned for one purpose. Perhaps he hadn’t been training as much as he used to, but his every fiber, for the better part of his life, was dedicated to inflicting pain. And he did inflict pain. Zevran couldn’t have known how he would lay into his men, how quickly and brutally they would fall. This one man, in his pajamas, was taking them out with alacrity.

“Clemencia!" he cried when Fenris bore down on him, all the rest were laid low, groaning on the ground, holding various body parts. He didn’t fight when Fenris picked him up by his collar, lifting him off the ground. This made Fenris hesitate,

“Not the face, pray! Not the face!" he was yelling, smiling. Fenris put him down.

“Good enough?" he growled, panting, fists still clenched.

“Err…” Zevran looked around at his men. “Ci. Jes." he smirked miserably, “You’re not, perhaps, looking for employment?”

At Fenris’ snarl he raised his hands, “Oh, jes, all good. We’ll be leaving. We’ll be leaving and talking to our employer. Not paid enough for this, no?" he turned to his injured men, “Come, chop chop." he clapped twice and turned to leave, men picking themselves up, helping others limp away. “This place seems to be under the protection of worse than us, no?" he said to the men, as they retreated.

“Fenris!” Hawke had slipped on his shoes, unlaced and unsocked, and jogged unto the street.

“Are you alright?!" he looked him over, placing a hand on his shoulder. Agitated, Fenris shrugged the hand off, too much adrenaline to accept worry or touch right now.

“I’m fine." he assured bruskly, still catching his breath. He really was out of shape.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“It’s my place of employment, too.” Was his counter, forcing himself to calm down enough to look at the storefront. They had bent the bars on the outside of the store wide to throw the large rock. The opening was practically wide enough to allow a person through. Fenris cursed in several languages, trying to find one that could adequately convey his feelings. None were nasty enough.

Hawke was standing beside him, hugging himself against the cold night air. It was drizzling, Fenris noticed finally, and they turned back to the store.

 

“Don’t do that now.” Hawke pleaded at Fenris reaching for the broom.

“You think I can fall asleep?” Fenris grumbled.

“At least put on some shoes before wading through broken glass.” On this point he could concede. When he stepped out of his room, he found Hawke sitting at his stool behind the counter, looking through a folder with papers. He had worn pants under his robe, at least.

“You should go to bed.”

“Not until you do." he replied, a bit slurred from tiredness. “Here it is.” he pulled out a faded piece of paper, “My insurance.”

“Should we call the police?”

“I'll do it tomorrow, after more stuff is broken.”

He read it silently as Fenris sweeped, careful when pulling items from the debris. Some would be too dangerous to sell, covered in glass dust and shards, but some, like cans, could be cleaned off and still sold. When the adrenaline from the fight faded and Fenris started feeling the chill wind from the broken window, he asked for a solution for the gaping hole.

“We could cut up some garbage bags…” Hawke mused, mussing his hair again. He looked up from the papers and inspected the large hole. Most of the window was gone, the remaining parts jutting in large, jagged edges. He looked exhausted.

They spent the better part of an hour, in the middle of the night, cutting up garbage bags and sewing them together with masking tape. The end result was a disaster and an eyesore, but it kept the breeze and the rain out. It’d do nothing to deter robbers, however. Fenris mentioned this and Hawke agreed, though he looked less concerned.

“Anyone who hears how you single-handedly taken out a whole murder of Crows... they’ll think twice about coming in here outside of business hours." he smiled.

Fenris returned the smirk, but said nothing about Zevran’s worrying parting words. He said the store was protected by a ‘worse than the Crows,’ and he didn’t like the thought that he had recognized the tattoos. Still, it couldn’t hurt if the underground thought that the remnants of the Tevinter were protecting Hawke, right?

Eventually Hawke could no longer keep his eyes open, and through his tiredness Fenris clearly saw the sadness and the weariness of the man’s existence. Hadn’t complained, hadn’t sworn. Just accepted another blow. Took it on the chin like the bruise under his eye, like the failing store and the death of his family. Just another blow to roll with, for him. A body can only take so much punishment, and same goes for hearts. Fenris’ own heart was breaking in his chest as he watched the man climb up the stairs, one exhausted step at a time. So long as Fenris was around, he would try and shoulder some of this pain. He would try to shield him, be there so that when the hits came, and they always did, Hawke wouldn’t have to bear the scars alone.

He felt a stirring in the back of his mind, something saying “this admission is a big deal”, but he was too tired to face it. He went to sleep, hoping his paranoia would wake him if someone tried to break in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I romanced Zevran in DA:O, so when Raineyishida mentioned he should be leading the Crows, the idea just had to happen.  
> This chapter feels like a shorter one, so I'll probably post the next chapter sometime over the weekend. Next chapter's a longer one!  
> I don't speak much Spanish, so if Zevran should be saying something else to not be punched in the face, let me know. ^_^;; I just google-translated the word "mercy".  
> Hope you continue to enjoy, and let me know what you think in the comments!


	12. Chapter 12

He woke up when his phone alarm went off, as per usual. It took him a second, once he had stepped out into the store, to remember why the window was covered in a eyepatch of black garbage bags. It made a crinkling sound as the wind outside pushed and pulled at it. Pattering as the rain spattered against it. There was a tightness, a dread in his chest when he recalled the words and the threats.

“It’ll take more than that to drive us out, right partner?” Hawke gave him the thumbs up, which Fenris returned, smiling wearily. Those two men would return tonight, and they needed to know they were going to stand their ground. He doubted they would do anything more than vandalize the store, but he wanted to be ready to intervene.

“I’m going to be here when they return." he called to Hawke, opening the door and receiving today’s newspapers from Merrill.

“What happened?” She asked, squinting huge eyes towards the broken window.

“Some vandals.” Fenris replied.

“Oh, that’s no good.” She chirped in her singsong accent. “Someone needs to write about this. I’ll tell my newspaper about it. Could be a story here.”

Fenris didn’t care either way, but he told her of the offer to sell, and the threats that followed. She was appalled, and promised to bring someone over to interview them in a day or two. Said she knew “just the right person for the job”.

When he returned inside Hawke had a chance to answer his previous statement,

“I don’t want you getting in trouble." he said.

“I think I proved last night that I can take care of myself." he flexed an arm, then hid it behind his back when he noticed the bruises on his own knuckles. You don’t take on an entire gang bare-fisted without bruising knuckles. His other hand had a bandaid where the cut had been.

Hawke grinned, but his eyes still bore the exhaustion of yesterday. There was only so much woe a man can carry, and Fenris was worried Hawke was reaching his limit.

“It’s ok,” Hawke assured, trying again, “I’ve known them for a long time. The less you’re involved, the better it is for your future. You don’t want an actual criminal record, do you?”

Fenris frowned,

“I’d rather stand up to them.”

“It’s not your store.” the words stung a little, but Hawke had no reason to assume Fenris’ attachment to the store was anything more than a place of employment. Not after he pushed him away. They hadn't spoke about that disastrous date. Hawke, Fenris could only imagine, thought that he had regretted those stolen kisses. He couldn’t have been more wrong. At night those played in his mind, tormenting him with their sweetness, with an acceptance he never thought a man like him could obtain. He wanted to explore more, but the fear of being overwhelmed kept him at bay. It wouldn’t be fair to Hawke to play with his emotions.

“You’re my boss.” It was a weak counter, and the wrong one, after everything they’ve been through. Hawke sighed, perhaps too tired from last night’s commotion to put up any more of a fight at that time.

“I’ll think about it.”

\

Pretty much every single regular that walked in commented on the window. Fewer new or passing customers came in, what with the terrible look of the storefront. Hawke said he’ll call the insurance company after today, since they both agreed that more damage was probably incoming.

 

Anders came by, eyes wide when he saw the destruction. He also noted the large rock that sat on top of the newspapers, instead of the candy bowl, like a spoil of war. It didn’t take much for him to add one and one together.

“You’re being threatened?!” he gasped after they spoke briefly. “That’s unacceptable! Call the police! Why can’t they just wait for you to sign the papers?! You can sue them, you know!”

Hawke smiled at the man. “I’m not selling.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m not selling.” he repeated with the same calmness. “I don’t want to sell so I’m not selling. I won’t have enough money to open a new store in this neighbourhood," he explained, “Not without a bank loan, and no bank will touch me. Not with my debts. I’m not selling.”

Fenris was proud of him, but also there was the nagging fear of this whole place collapsing on its own. His eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the sagging beams on the ceiling, the rot, the rusted pipes.

“You’re mad.” Anders said, then squared his shoulders, “I don’t care that you’re mad, if you need legal support, you just come to me, alright?” without waiting for a response, he paid for his catfood and stormed out, not even taking the tea Hawke was holding out for him.

“If you could afford it, you’d move?” Fenris asked quietly, after the bell stopped jangling.

“Not if I could help it.” Hawke shrugged. “On the other end of the next block there are a couple of empty buildings in good repair, but good luck figuring out who owns them, and good luck affording them. This is _Vancouver_.”

 

The rest of the day was quiet, but not in a comfortable way. It felt like the calm before the storm. The rain that had dragged its feet last night was coming down in earnest now, without any intention of letting up. There was a nervous energy in the air. Hawke didn’t speak much, and Fenris caught him looking worriedly at the sale papers, as though they whispered to him, promising an end to his troubles. Like a siren luring sailors to the rocks. Hawke _could_ sell. He could get some money and find a job and an apartment somewhere. But, Fenris felt Hawke was intrinsically tied to this street. Wherever else life might take him, he’d never uproot his love for this community, no matter how many times he’d try to tear it out. He’d forever hate himself for turning his back on these people and selling his mother’s store. Fenris very much doubted he would be happy working for someone else, somewhere else.

 

It grew dark.

The clock ticked forward, and the dread lay thick by the time the black sedan parked outside and the two men stepped out. Grudgingly, Fenris went to his room, though he promised Hawke in no uncertain terms that he’d intervene if he wanted to. Hawke’s winning argument had been that “they would already be on edge, and that having another person present would just exacerbate the tension.”

Tan stepped forward, Blue in tow. Tan was a mountain of a man, skin dark and brows set heavily atop small eyes. Blue was a spindly man, who gave the impression of being able to bend into whatever shape you’d need him to, like a slug. They glanced at the broken window, smirking. Their expressions turned disappointed that there was actually so little damage inside. They must have been told what had happened to their ‘messengers’ the night before.

“We’ll take those papers now.” Said Tan. Fenris was ready like a drawn bow is ready. Tense and vicious.

“You’re welcome to them,” Hawke grinned, mustering some energy that he hadn’t had all day, “But they’re as unsigned as they were yesterday.”

“Hawke,” Said Blue, his tone reasonable, “Why don’t you just take the money? You never gave us shit before. We don’t _want_ to hurt you.” Blue looked at Tan, “Get through to him, Ari!”

Tan, whose name was Ari, certainly short for something, gave Hawke a long, measuring look.

“When we took over for the Coterie, you knew that refusing to pay out would encourage others to do so, and that would have caused people to get hurt.”

Hawke nodded, his voice pleasant,

“True, but my neighbors have both sold. No one left to get hurt, but me.”

“What about that coworker of yours? We heard you have one now. We heard some troubling rumours about him.”

“He’ll be fine either way.” Hawke said, an edge to his tone, “He’s not involved in this.”

“Then you wouldn’t _want_ us to involve him, then. ” there was a crack of knuckles from Ari. Hawke’s voice, when he spoke, bore none of his usual cheer. It was low and menacing, echoes of the teen who had killed to save his family.

“You’d end up on the losing end of that, I assure you.”

“Not unless he’s packing one of these.” Blue exposed a pistol tucked in the belt of his pants. Even Hawke was startled at that. Guns were not seen often in the city.

“No need for that, Quentin.” Ari smiled at the fear the weapon instilled, “Hawke here was just about to sign the papers.” He leaned in from across the counter, broad face confident. “C’mon, Hawke. Do me a solid here. It’s my ass on the line if you don’t.”

Hawke leaned in, mirroring Ari’s pose mockingly.

“I’m sorry you were _assigned_ the _asinine assignment_ of having me _sign_. If you didn’t want your ass on the line, you shouldn’t have put it where your face is.”

Ari’s fist was like lightning, catching Hawke in the chin and snapping his head to the side. One foot actually in the air as his body stretched from the blow. Even so, Hawke had the wherewithal to stick out a hand and it took a split second for Fenris to realize it was meant for him. A hand splayed open in his general direction.

 _Don’t_ , it said, stopping a surge forward before it could fully occur. It took all he had to not rush in and kill both men where they stood. fists closed tight enough to whitened knuckles and nearly draw blood. Teeth bared in a snarl. Maybe that was enough for them. Maybe.

Ari smiled easily, stepping behind the counter to grab Hawke’s extended arm and bend it roughly behind his back. Hawke cried out, and Ari’s other hand was in Hawke’s hair, pushing him down against the counter with a sharp, violent motion. The shake caused the newspapers to tip over and the massive rock crashed on Quentin’s foot. He howled in pain.

“Look what you did, huh?" he cruelly yanked at the twisted arm, causing Hawke to call out again.

That was more than Fenris could stand and watch. The image too painful, his feelings towards this man too strong. He burst out of his hiding, fists at the ready and a growl in his throat. He had hoped they wouldn’t resort to violence. He had hoped vandalism would be enough for them.

In two steps he was behind the larger man, snapping a quick knuckled strike to the kidney, just enough to stagger. He hooked an arm into one of the attacker’s elbows and twisted, released his employer. With two swift motions and a shift in weight, Ari’s bulk went sprawling onto the floor, towards his compatriot. Size difference didn’t matter, Fenris’ strength was borne of rage, and his precision from countless fights.

“ _What the hell?_ ” Ari demanded from the floor, looking at the slight man who had so efficiently knocked him down. Fenris would have charged these two but for Hawke’s gentle hand on his arm. He didn’t want to make things worse, he supposed. Quentin had finished hopping on one foot and yelped,

“Is that the employee?! Don’t act like no employee! Is that the--”

Ari stood up. He was slightly taller than Hawke, which made the size difference all the more pronounced and absurd between him and Fenris. His eyes grew large and he took a few steps back, arms coming up as if Fenris was capable of incinerating him with a thought.

“Holy shit!” he cried, backing just past Quentin and pointing at Fenris, “The Crows weren’t kidding! He’s a goddamn  _Vint!_ ”

“Shit!” Quentin wasted no time and drew his gun, pointed it straight at Fenris’ chest. The latter stilled, brows settling on green orbs as he dipped his head, growling. There was only so much he could do against bullets, but he certainly wasn’t letting Hawke face this alone. Not a chance. Not while he still drew breath.

Hawke was the first to speak, pulling himself up and raising his hands in a placating manner. Hoping to disarm this situation, he took a step towards the men, putting himself somewhat in between them and Fenris. He kept his motions slow and his face smiling.

“Now, now! There’s no need to this!" he tried to infuse his voice with warmth and cheer, but it wavered a little.

Ari spat, “That’s why you’re so ballsy all of the sudden! You got the goddamn _Tevinter_ on your side!”

“I thought them were dead and gone!” Blue, Quentin, cried, holding the gun steady. Hawke tried again,

“I’m my own side! I’m not with the Tevinter or anybody.”

“Just sign the goddamn papers!” Ari bellowed, though he remained safely behind his armed friend.

“No!” Hawke’s voice was strong, betraying none of the doubts that he had harboured earlier in the day. “ _I will not sell!_ ”

 

Maybe it was Hawke’s determined shout. Maybe someone twitched. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the glare Fenris was giving Quentin. Maybe it was all of the above, but the gun spat out one bullet.

 

But Hawke… Hawke had somehow known. Taken one more step just as it happened.

 

No bullet connected with Fenris’ chest.

 

Fenris roared, his voice filling the small store like a maelstrom of rage. Two more bullets fired, but he was already upon Quentin, hand shoving the wrist aside and the bullets went wide. There was a loud screech like an electrical beast’s dying throes, and the lights went out. That suited Fenris just fine. A ruthless fist slammed the shooter in the gut, doubling him over, Fenris bent the wrist holding the weapon until bone snapped, the gun clattering to the floor. Pulling the wrist towards himself, he raised his knee to meet the man’s ribs. Once, twice, in quick succession. Quentin was screaming.

Ari was upon him by then, and he ducked, letting the man in blue go. The large fist of his new opponent snapping over his head to miss and hit the shelf, which toppled over, spilling its contents on the floor like a drunk’s dinner. There was a bit more light now. Fenris’ advantages were limited in such close quarters. He needed room to maneuver, a fact that was proven all the more urgent when knuckles connected with the side of his head, spinning him as he tumbled to the floor. His jaw was screaming like it was going to pop out of his head, but he knew pain. They were old friends. He used his momentum and continued spinning as he fell, sweeping his feet to take out his opponent’s. Ari toppled down with a howl, and Fenris was on him in a flash, grabbing him with thumbs in his eyes and pressing, all the while roaring in furious rage and slamming the larger man’s head into the tiles. He ignored the hands which tried to pry his wrists away, ignored the growing light, the pain...

“... _Fenris!_ ” came a choked word from Hawke. A few more moments and Ari’s eyes would have joined his brain. Even as it was, there was probably irreparable damage to his vision. Fighting his own urges with a strangled scream, Fenris managed to convince his fingers to uncurl, and he stood up shakily from his disabled opponent. He looked up.

 

Fire.

 

The stray shots had hit the ancient fusebox, the tumbled newspapers the perfect kindling. Hawke was leaning heavily on the counter, one hand supporting his weight, the other clutching his side where blood was blooming. His attention was riveted on the fire spreading at an alarming rate. Already the fire was larger than a man could fight alone, growing even as they looked, licking at the wall, the products, the old posters.

Fenris rushed to him. There was blood flowing between the man’s fingers, pretty much where his Kidney would--

\--His _only_ kidney. Fear nearly blinded Fenris, and he made to pull Hawke away. Found resistance.

“No!” Hawke cried, panicked. Fingers of both hands reaching out to hold on to the counter for dear life. “I have to put out the fire!”

“It’s too late!” Fenris yelled over the snapping and crackling. It was getting smoky, too. The back wall was almost entirely engulfed, the fire eating at the electrical cables like they were nothing more than wicks, spreading disastrously quick. Fenris followed one tendril of fire to the ceiling, where the rot in the old beams was only engorging the flames. He pulled at Hawke again, but to no avail. The man’s grip on the counter was suicidal. “No! I have to stop the fire! _No!_ ”

The two criminals had gotten up, Quentin clutching at his wrist, helping his blinded compatriot to his feet though he himself could not stand straight with those broken ribs.

“ _Don’t!_ ” Fenris shouted as they reached for the door. Fear of the fire drove them, like fleeing rats from a sinking ship, and they swung it open. The rush of fresh air excited the flames to erupt, throwing both employer and employee unto their backs in the middle of the store. Fenris coughed, heard the ceiling above snap a warning before he threw himself over the larger man, breaking the fallen, burning beam on his back with a grunt of pain. Hawke’s eyes under him were huge in his head, the pupils pinpricks. Panic had settled in.

“No! We hafta--! " he yelled, trying to get up only to shout out in pain and drop down on his back again, coughing. Fenris saw there would be no saving him nicely and scooped an arm around Hawke’s abdomen, pinning his arms to his side. Then he lifted him as he stood, leaning him against- almost over- his shoulder as he shrugged off the debris. He dashed towards the entrance, ignoring the increasingly desperate screams of his friend that cut into his soul like knives. Ignoring his own burning, anguished rage. The entryway was on fire, the criminals inadvertently blocking it as an exit with their escape. Never slowing down, he jumped out the hole in the window that was made the night before, taking the garbage bags with him. The ingress of even more fresh air into the store fanned the flames, and they licked hungrily at their heels as they made their escape.

The black sedan’s tires screamed as they fled into the night. They weren’t likely to get very far with those injuries, but that wasn’t Fenris’ concern right now.

He ran to the other side of the street before his strength gave out. Hawke wasn’t light. Still, he did his best to lower the man as gently as he could unto the opposite sidewalk. Pelted by rain, they were both stained by ash, both smeared with blood. The stench of burning smothered all other scents. He leaned Hawke’s mid-back against his kneeling leg, propping him up somewhat, and looked at the wound. A hole. Bleeding. A lot.

“NO!” Hawke was still screaming, attempting to get up but overcome easily by his own mortal wound and Fenris’ gentle attempts at keeping him still. He kept screaming, kept fighting. The store was doomed from the first moment.

“There’s nothing we can do.” Fenris choked, his own voice seeped in emotion. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“The picture! _The picture! My home! The store! No! No! NO!_ ” Hawke’s pain was growing too great, whether physical or emotional. He was bleeding, quite possibly dying as his last remaining kidney had been perforated.

“Hawke. _Hawke…_ ” Fenris pressed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder with more force, trying to pin him down. “There’s nothing we can do.”

What he _could_ do was attempt to staunch the bleeding. Couldn’t think about the kidney right now. He reached a hand to the man’s back, checking for an exit wound. There was none. A small calibre pistol against the mass that was Hawke. It meant the bullet was still inside. At least it was half the bleeding it could have been.

Looking around desperately, he sought help. People had started to step out of their homes, or come from other streets towards the growing pillar of light that was the burning building. No help to be immediately found, Fenris tore off that stupid apron from Hawke’s neck, bunched it into a ball, making sure to keep the waist strings free. Then, ungently and disregarding the cries of pain, shoved it into the wound. Hawke screamed. Fenris used the strings to loop around the waist once, then tied it as tightly as he dared. Hawke was gasping for breath, and Fenris could offer no solace other than to grasp at one flailing hand and hold it tight. This, after a few moments, seemed to calm Hawke down.

Their eyes met, Hawke’s brimming with tears. His expression was one of such disbelief, of a silent wish so desperate, Fenris felt the tears that had gathered in his own eyes spill unto his cheeks, mingling with the rain. Hawke’s other hand gathered a fist in Fenris’ shirt-- the comfortable thermal. He buried his face in Fenris’ stomach and just cried, teeth clenched and eyes closed tight. Perhaps wishing to wash away this impossible, nightmare scenario. The rain kept falling, not remotely intense enough to help battle the licking, crackling destruction. Flames shot up from the roof of the store, casting dancing shadows across the street like a hellish shadow puppet show. Fenris gathered the man in his arms gently. Planted a single kiss on the mess of sooty hair, and could do nothing else. His own impotence shredding his innards like bandsaws. The weak, inconsolable sobs and desperate tears of the man in his arms decimating what little strength he had left.

The fire engine’s sirens wailed mournfully, an urgent dirge for the unsavable. The men had barely stepped off the fire truck when the whole second story collapsed, throwing debris across the street and unto other roofs. People shouted and gasped in surprise. Fenris instinctively covered Hawke with his body, felt the rain of burning shrapnel on his back. There was nothing the firefighters could do but prevent the fire from spreading to the now abandoned neighboring buildings. Hawke and Fenris were all but ignored, not even seen behind the gathering crowd of people, thrown into their shadows as the pyre drew everyone’s attention.

Hawke’s lifeblood was pooling, draining away with the puddles of his beloved street, despite Fenris’ efforts to staunch it. The man’s sobs subsided to exhausted gasps. Their eyes met, and there was such hopelessness on that dear face that Fenris choked out a sob of his own, face fighting to remain calm, to offer any sort of strength to his dying friend. More than friend. More than anything.

The approaching ambulance call was like a hope against hope, that somehow Hawke could still be saved while everything else in his life burnt down.

“It’s going to be alright.” Fenris offered, words feeling empty against the pools of despair in front of him. There was nothing left in those eyes now but hopelessness. No fear, no anger. Just… emptiness. Despair. Surrender. The lids grew heavy. “Please…” Fenris begged, and Hawke’s eyes fluttered open again for a moment, unfocused and fading fast. He grabbed that cold hand tighter, his other arm bringing Hawke closer to himself, as though his warmth could infuse some life into this man.  “Please, Hawke. I need you." the words were barely a whisper. Hawke had screamed, he had cried. Now there was nothing left. Nothing to fight for. His strength drained, his hopes burnt. “Please…”

The eyes closed, the head dropping against Fenris’ chest. Hawke’s own chest movements ceased, or were too minute to observe in the sharp play of dancing darkness and light. Fenris could only gape, whole world a motionless, colourless blur. A dreadful moment painted in blood and anguish and fire.

He was snapped back to reality an infinity of pain later, a hand on his shoulder. Words heard through cotton wool, senses fleeting. Despite himself, Fenris found he was growling at the first-response attendants, and it was with truly herculean effort that he managed to draw back from Hawke as they gently pushed him away. He stood there in a daze as they loaded his friend unto a gurney and into the vehicle, siren screaming as they took off.

And then he was alone.

Alone in the mess of people and firefighters and there were news crews and police and lights and flashing and nothing made sense anymore.

Fenris ran and ran and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter had the emotional impact I had hoped for! This was the other chapter I was very excited to post, and I hope you enjoyed it!  
> This chapter took SO many revisions and fixes. I knew what I wanted to do with it, but it was hard to balance descriptions and actions with urgency. I hope I pulled it off.  
> Next chapter should be mid-week, as usual!


	13. Chapter 13

He stopped running when his smoke-charred lungs screamed louder than the pain in heart. He staggered to a stop, jumping aside from a honking vehicle and back onto the sidewalk. He was trembling, gasping, breaths wheezing. Coughing, he dropped to his knees in an alley, putting hands to his face only to realize they were covered in the blood of the only person in the world who mattered to him. His shirt was soaked with the man’s blood, too. He stared at the blood on his hands, how the rain fell unto them, for long moments. How rivulets of water mixed with the thicker liquid and ran down his arms, eerily following the patterns of his cursed tattoos. Streetlamps played on the sweat, water and blood, the night suffocating thought.

He jumped when something moved against his leg. He grabbed at it, and realized his phone was buzzing. He fumbled, then put it to his ear.

“How goes it, little wolf?” a cheerful voice. The moniker drew a shuddering gasp from him, and he put a hand on his forehead to try and steady himself enough to speak.

“Fenris?” Anso’s voice pinched with concern. “Fenris, are you alright?”

“Fire." he managed to force out through clenched teeth, “There was… a fire.” still reeling, still gasping for air but the world now seemed devoid of oxygen. “Hawke…” His voice broke. He tried again, “Hawke’s…” he didn’t want to say “dead”. Didn’t want the word to exist. He _wasn’t_ dead. At least, Fenris didn’t know. Didn’t know to which hospital they had taken him, didn’t know where he himself even was. He had finally let the panic grab him, and he had ran. Ran like he had wanted to run before, back to a time where he felt little and cared less. Now, without the gravitational pull of Hawke’s infinite kindness, he was tossed away like an asteroid hurtling into empty space. But there was no numbness. No. Agony in its stead.

“Hawke’s… hospital. Shot.” Was the best he could do.

“Where are you? _Are you ok?_ ”

“I don’t know where I am.” Fenris breathed, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. “Don’t know where they… took him.”

“Well, what are you doing, then?!” Anso barked at him, “Go look for street signs! Take a taxi! Do what you need to do! Find the police! Ask them which hospital it was!”

Fenris tilted his head to the sky, letting the rain cool his burning skin, his still smouldering wreckage of a life.

“I can’t…” Learning that Hawke had died would… It would an ending he couldn’t handle.

“You’re the Fenris we found covered in blood in that house. Bound, beaten.” Anso spoke strongly, “You’re the Fenris who took his freedom in his own two hands. Who fought years of conditioning to live a free man out there in the world.” voice intense, not trying to coddle. “I can’t tell you who’s important to you, but it sounds like Hawke’s important to you. Get your ass up! I’m going to look into things on my end-- I’ll call you if I don’t hear from you in two hours.”

The call ended, and Fenris spent a few moments blinking at the “Call Ended” notice until the screen went dark. Then he climbed to his feet, and ran.

 

Aveline was there. Thank god Aveline was there. Pacing at the back of the crowd, biting her nails and scowling at the still-burning rubble like her glare alone could extinguish the flames and give her solace.

“Aveline.” Fenris panted, coming to a stop beside her.

“Bloody hell!” She cried, looking at him, “I’m going to call an ambulance!”

“I’m alright." he dismissed, not having time for this, “Tell me where they took Hawke.” She was about to protest but he met her eyes and said, “Please.”

Her scowl deepened, but she nodded, “I’ll take you to the hospital myself.” She said, “So long as I get a statement out of you on the way." too worried and tired to protest, he nodded.

He sat heavily in the passenger seat of her squad car, a sturdy Crown Vic.

“Donnic!” she called as she climbed in, “I found the other tenant! I’m taking him to the hospital!”

Donnic, a fellow officer, nodded and waved her off. The car purred awake and slunk away from the only place Fenris had ever chosen to call home. It slid away from Kirkwall street and into the bustle of Vancouver traffic. It wasn’t all that late, Fenris’ dead eyes scanned the dashboard, the radio display showing the time to be 6:17pm. How quickly did it all go to hell!

Aveline had finished making some reports via her radio, and both her hands returned to grab the wheel with a force the poor thing didn’t deserve. She was angry.

“Are you badly injured?” She demanded.

“I’m…” Sitting sedately and having a purpose caught up with him. He realized that he wasn’t as “fine” as the word that teetered on his tongue would have either of them believe. His wrists were raw and red, deep scratches dug into the arms and joint where Ari’s nails tried to pry him off. His back, leaning against the leather of the seat, reported that it had been burnt in places, and cut in others. A rib or a shoulder blade had been yelling out in pain all this time, only now heard. Glancing at himself in the mirror, his face was stricken with blood and soot, clearer ravines extended from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks where tears carved paths in the grime. One cheek had a burn from the side of it down to his neck. Angry red skin, not terrible, but now that he noticed it, painful. His white hair red and pink in places where he had touched, grey and black where soot had mixed with rain. His white-ink tattoos seemed to defy the all this, standing out like they were glowing from some internal source. A cut on his upper arm informed him that one of those wild shots had grazed him, but it had since stopped bleeding. On the shoulder upon which he had carried Hawke a large red stain seeped into the cloth. Impossibly, this to him was the most alarming.

His eyes were deadened, not belaying the turmoil inside when he met them in the side mirror.

“I’m not critical." he assessed. “Do you know if Hawke--" he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, throat constricting.

“I don’t know,” She said, her mouth a thin line of displeasure, “but you can start telling me what the _hell_ happened.”

He took a deep breath and tried to explain. Sometimes he reverted to one word descriptors when the pain in his heart grew intolerable at the recollections, but she didn’t press. Not yet. There would be a time for that.

She asked him to elaborate on the injuries he had inflicted upon Quentin and Ari, and at first he thought he was going to be arrested for those. Didn’t care. Detailed them as best he could. She picked up the radio and called it in, asking her men and women to search local hospitals and streets for men matching the descriptions and injuries. It was the first flash of satisfaction Fenris felt since this disaster started.

They arrived scarce few minutes later at St. Paul Hospital. It was an old, cathedral-looking building of red brick, and Fenris climbed out of the vehicle and followed Aveline’s unstoppable determination through its winding, sterile corridors. Nothing could stop her. She barked orders at orderlies, nagged nurses. They eventually reached a pair of swinging doors in front of which stood two policemen, a man and a woman. Aveline slowed down and addressed them.

“How is he?” She demanded.

The woman spoke, “They’re operating on him right now. He lost a lot of blood--”

“The kidney?” Fenris interrupted, unable to keep the anxious energy out of his voice. He felt, at that moment, that if someone asked he would gladly reach into his own flesh and produce one of his own, if it’d save the man.

“I don’t know.” Said the woman. Fenris consciously unclenched his fists.

“Are you ok?” Asked the man. Aveline glanced at him, seemed to remember he was injured, and with the same no-nonsense barking tone, commanded some nurses to tend to him. He refused to budge, resisting even Aveline’s sternest glares.

“I’m not moving until I know he’s alright." he announced, bravery wrought of fear and concern and that emotion which Hawke left around his heart. He still hadn’t dared name it, though.

The nurses consented to treat him on a hospital bed right there in the sitting area. It was otherwise empty, thankfully, so Fenris didn’t feel too self-conscious when he peeled off his all-but ruined favourite shirt. His back needed stitches where the fallen beam had dug deeply into him. More stitches on the gash on the arm. His wrists, back and a few scraps he hadn’t noticed on his legs (cut right through the singed jeans) were cleaned, disinfected and bound. Two fractured ribs would heal on their own with time. Pain, his friend of old, was a familiar companion. One he preferred to the storm of emotions in his chest. He told the nurses he was willing to give blood or a kidney or his heart if it’d make a difference. They gave him compassionate looks, thanked him and asked questions about his medical history he couldn’t actually answer. It took about half an hour for them to finish binding his injuries, and they suggested he use the bathroom to clean his face. He refused to move, so they gave him wet wipes, and he used nearly an entire pack cleaning his hands, face, neck and even futily rubbing some strands of his hair. A pile of pink, red and black tissues were deposited in a special bin and he settled down in a chair in the waiting area. For lack of a better option, he put the wrecked shirt back on. Even smelling of smoke and blood it was a token. A token that he was keeping close.

He sat there and waited.

He sat there and replayed the entire evening in his head, cursing himself for each failure. Most of all he was cursing himself that he had encouraged Hawke to stay. He had been selfish. Had Hawke agreed to sell, he would have had _something_. Wouldn’t have had to see his life burn down. Wouldn’t be dying, wouldn’t have been hit, and shot and…

Hated himself for stepping in, for making the situation so much worse. Hated himself for not at least trying to grab Hawke’s family picture from the wall, burning or no. Hated himself for running, for losing control, for giving in to terror and fear and loss. Cursed at himself for letting him get shot, for not realizing he was the type of man who would deliberately step into the path of a bullet. He should have known. If Fenris had taken the shot to the chest Hawke wouldn’t be dying right now.

The reasonable part of his mind said that Hawke would still have been in this very hospital, probably being informed that being shot in the chest usually kills people.

He sat there, cursed the world in general and himself in particular.

He waited.

 

His phone rang. He gave a start and made sure he was allowed to use his phone in this area before pressing the button.

It was Anso, of course.

“What news, little wolf?” No amusement this time. Urgency, instead.

Fenris’ mind had been a million miles away, replaying the night again and again, trying different scenarios, wishing above all else that he had taken that bullet, because honestly, it felt like he already did. The pain in his heart was torturous. He ran a hand over his face, trying to make his blood remember how to flow. Words were fleeting, but he grabbed at them.

“He’s… he’s in surgery. He has only had one kidney. If it was hit… If it’s destroyed…”

“Don’t create problems before they come up.” Anso advised, voice serious, but not judging.

“...Yeah." he sighed, the only thing fending his exhaustion was his fear for the man’s life. “This… This is a disaster." he said.

“So far you’re both still alive, so that’s a win.”

Fenris nodded, despite the other man not seeing it. “You don’t understand, though…" he went to explain the store’s significance to the community, but mostly to Hawke. Explained about the anxiety. Didn’t know if it was his place, but needed to hear that it was going to be ok. Anso put Cole on the line, and Fenris explained again. Cole’s soft voice, even and serene, encouraged him. He said that it’s not going to be easy, but that with friends and family he could pull through. At the word ‘family’ Fenris jumped.

Bethany! He had to tell Bethany. He thanked them both, and promised to call or text as soon as there were news. Anso said just before they hung up,

“The Hawkes are sturdy people. He’ll pull through.” Anso hung up.

“I don’t want to think of a future without him." the whisper escaped his lips as he stared at the phone. He didn’t have time to think too deeply into it. He flipped through his contacts. The first two were Anso and Cole, then Hawke’s number, then Bethany, but he only had her email, to send her that picture. He had forgotten to do that.

He tried to compose an email, and spent 20 minutes wrestling with it. Could manage only,

_Bethany,_

_The store is gone. Your brother is hurt. Please call me._

He added his phone number to the email and sent it, fearing the return call. Fearing having to explain how he had failed to protect him. He pressed the phone to his forehead in silent prayer. Aveline was walking towards him. He stood up so quickly he got a headrush. He found himself unable to utter a word until she spoke,

“He’s going to make it.”

His knees gave out, and he sat down again, a weight the size of the moon lifted from his shoulders. He buried his face in palms and took moments just remembering what it’s like to breath again.

Aveline sat beside him, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He tensed, but didn’t shake her off. Didn’t mind it, entirely. Finally he could think. Who else needed to be notified? What arrangements needed to be done?

“Merrill will be coming with the newspapers in the morning. She needs to know." he said, thinking about the future for the first time that night. Mind finally able to think and plan and process, like a cloud of terror was lifted. “And Varric, and probably that ponse, Anders, too.” Aveline laughed at the descriptor, and Fenris found that he remembered how to smile. Tears of relief gathered in the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away angrily, perhaps a tad embarrassed. Aveline said nothing for a moment, then spoke softly,

“I didn’t know you two were that close. I thought you just worked for him.”

Fenris chuckled, “If you know Hawke you know it’s impossible to be in his vicinity without being drawn closer. Like a blackhole of friendliness.”

Aveline’s smile suited her. He had never seen her smile so sweetly before.

“I think it’s more than friendliness in this case.” before he could counter, argue or agree she changed the subject, “Bethany needs to know.”

“I emailed her." he said, “Don’t have her phone number.”

“I do.” Aveline pulled out her own phone, another source of salvation when she said, “I’ll call her.”

She got up, stepped away a short distance and called. Bethany answered. Apparently she was in the middle of dinner and hadn’t checked her messages yet. Aveline dealt with breaking the news far better than Fenris would have, and when she hung up she explained to him that Bethany will talk to her CO and see how soon she can leave the base. Thankfully she wasn't stationed far.

“Now, you.” Aveline patted him on the shoulder again, careful to avoid the destroyed parts of the shirt under which burns and cuts were bandaged.

“I’m staying here." he stated. It was obvious, really.

“I live a block away from Kirkwall, come sleep on the couch.”

“No.” Fenris shook his head, remembered enough to add, “No, thank you. I’m staying here.”

Aveline’s smile was sagacious and she stood up. “Very well.” She said, “No point in pulling you lovebirds apart." he flushed and stammered, but she only patted him again and left, not before she made sure he had her phone number stored in his contacts. While he had the phone out, he texted Anso and Cole. They both expressed relief, though Anso joked that without Hawke Fenris could finally take him up on the offer to teach special forces combat maneuvers. Fenris found it in bad taste, but was too relieved to take offense at the silly joke.

 

Later, Fenris brought up the picture they had taken that day. The two siblings leaning over him, grinning like cheshire cats, with himself in the middle. The picture had captured a moment where he was glancing at Hawke from the corner of his eyes, green and wide with something close to confusion or perhaps wonder, though there was a shadow of a smile on his lips. He pressed the phone again to his forehead, wishing for a happy ending to all this. Wishing for those simple days. Wishing he was not himself, and didn’t bring ruin wherever he went.

 

When he started nodding off he dared leave his post for long enough to grab a hot chocolate from a machine down the hall. When he returned a nurse approached him, looking tired but determined.

“Are you Fenris?” She asked. He nodded, mouth suddenly going dry.

“Garrett's awake and he’s complaining a great deal that he wants to see you.”

Fenris couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and followed the nurse to a room down the hall, past the double doors. He entered, and a pale, bruised Hawke sat there, propped up by a curve in the bed and a pillow, his posture all that was eager and hopeful. His eyes told another story, one of heartbreak and fear, but Fenris would take what he could get for the moment.

“Fenris!” true joy elevated the man’s tired voice into an exclamation. He opened his arms, but when Fenris approached he used his free hand (the one not holding the drink) to grasp at the open palm, tightly. There was a chair there, and Fenris sat down. Hawke’s pale skin was painted with bruises, his scar standing out bright red on an ashen complexion. A couple of burns adorned the exposed torso, bandaged mid-way down. Additional small burns on his face and the back of his hands when he had grabbed onto the counter. An IV and a blood transfusion standing vigil over his shoulder, their life saving tendrils snaking into his arm.

Fenris was unable to speak for some time, too many emotions vying for control of his vocal cords. He put the cup down with a shaky hand, body overrun with relief.

“You look like shit.” Hawke observed, his voice calmer. Fenris chuckled but Hawke continued, “I was afraid you wouldn’t be here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know.” he shrugged, then winced. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re out of a job." there was an honest attempt at humour there, but he just couldn’t pull it off. The knowledge that the store had burnt down was sitting on his expression like a grave. The injuries to the body seemed to pale in comparison to the ones to his soul. There was hopelessness in those maple eyes. Fenris pressed the hand in his. Unable to find words, but wanting to provide comfort nonetheless.

“We don’t even have a home.” Hawke said heavily. “Insurance won’t cover complete loss, not with the building in the state it is-- _was_.”

“How-- how are you feeling, though?” Fenris managed to speak, voice hoarse. Better for Hawke not to dwell on the loss.

“Good thing I have a missing kidney.” Hawke chuckled tiredly, placing a hand over the bandages on that side, “Perfect place to be shot.”

“If one must.” Fenris added, smirking despite himself.

“Yes, if one absolutely _must_ be shot, best to come prepared with a useless spot in one’s body for it.”

“Please don’t make it a habit.”

“With how much this hurt? You must be _kiddn’ ne_.”

Fenris blinked at him twice.

It was terrible. It wasn’t even a little funny, but Fenris couldn’t stop the laughter that burst forth, relief and joy. When he looked back at Hawke, the man was smiling, but there was something else in his eyes.

“Hawke…?” Worry came flooding back and Hawke swallowed with difficulty.

“You don't need to stay. You don't need to worry about me." he said wretchedly, wiping at his face, “I’ll be ok. What are you planning on doing now?”

There was no avoiding the topic, was there? Hawke’s anxiety must be running amok, and he was trying to be so brave. The broken pieces of Fenris’ heart shattered into smaller ones. Macerated farther by the thought that Hawke believed this was a parting of ways.

“I don’t know." he admitted, unsure of the right thing to say. “You took that bullet for me.” It was a statement, almost an accusation.

Hawke stilled nervously, like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. His face was drawn, but he twisted it into a miserable smirk and looked at Fenris.

“There _was_ a bullet.” he agreed, “and it hit me. But, who can say to whom it was intended?”

Fenris heard his bullshit loud and clear. He was trying to make sure that Fenris didn't feel obligated to him.

“I appreciate all you've done,” Hawke continued soberly, looking at his lap, “but… I mean… you can go wherever you want. You’re a free man. When the insurance money comes I can give you your severance pay.”

Certainly Hawke didn’t think so little of him? Was he just making sure Fenris didn’t stay from a misplaced sense of gratitude? At the awkward silence that followed, and Fenris’ frown, Hawke spoke again, “I know I screwed up as an employer,” here he dared a glance at his now former employee, and as certain as he had cracked ribs, Fenris knew they were both thinking of that passionate exchange, “and I know I irritate you all the time… but…” the smile he gave him was drenched in heartbreak, “... But I'm really glad I met you, and I'm sorry.”

“How Canadian of you to apologize for things that are not your fault.” Fenris bitterly retorted, face twitching into a scowl. How was Hawke to guess his feelings when he had denied them even from himself? It was no surprise he was acting as he was. Fenris said,

“Meeting you… was perhaps the single most important thing I had ever done.” his voice was lower and more intense than he planned in his head. It sounded too much like a goodbye. Hawke’s expression reflecting this in the saddening of his mouth, so Fenris struggled to find something neutral to add that might be construed as a desire to stay.

“I've no more where to go than you do.”

Hawke’s face flushed, but it was with shame, “All the IKEA stuff…” he lamented.

“That's not what I meant.” Fenris huffed irritability. “You're being uncharacteristically meek. Where's the Hawke who proverbially spat in Ari’s eye?”

Now it was Hawke's turn to frown, still holding on to that hand, “I should have sold.” there was no bitterness, just hopelessness in the warm voice. “I put us both through hell ‘cause I was stubborn. I put your life at risk over that dump. I should have cared more about our safety than that stupid, doomed store--”

Fenris’ scowl stopped his tirade.

“That store was your mother's. It was your life!” he countered hotly, “Neither of us imagined it would end up like this.”

Hawke’s eyes met his for a long time. Warmth, fear, comfort communicated silently through their joined hands. Fenris wanted to lean in and kiss him. Kiss him until the laughter returned to that beautiful face. That face which now should have been crying, but had lost so much, not even tears remained.

“Bethany should be here tomorrow sometime.” he tried, hoping to remind Hawke of what he had left. Hawke huffed out a humorless chuckle, “She’ll offer to pay for things, or offer me to move in with her and Sebastian…”

“Or we can find a place nearby.” the words escaped before he could check them, and at the incredulous look he added, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “Two people can pay rent easier than one.”

Hawke’s hope was mixed in with uncertainty. Fenris needed to stay by his side, needed it like he needed air. Some freedoms are best enjoyed in tandem. This wasn't a new leash, it was the freedom to give his heart to whom he pleased. What an intoxicating prospect!

“Whatever it is that happens in the future, I hope I am able to stay by your side." the words came out as natural and true as the beating of his heart.

Hawke’s face turned to him, surprised, then delight washed over it like the sun after a storm. Like waking up in heaven. A smile on a face best suited for smiling. The sadness, the fear, it was all still there, but he knew he didn’t have to face it alone.

 

Fenris stayed by Hawke’s side, talking with him and distracting him until the wee hours of the morning, when another dose of pain medication was delivered by the nurse, and Hawke’s eyes started to droop, this time with the promise of waking up in the morning.

Swaying with exhaustion, Fenris made his way to the waiting area and fell asleep on a few chairs pushed together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet hospital scenes. I always thought it interesting that Fenris never straight out says "I love you" in the game. It's probably really tough for him, so he finds all these interesting ways of letting Hawke know he cares.


	14. Chapter 14

He slept like the dead. A bad analogy under the circumstances. He woke up to a gentle hand on his shoulder. Fenris dragged himself to a sitting position, smacking his lips and feeling like he had eaten all the ash from the fire last night. Bethany stood over him. Her eyes, so much like her brother’s, crinkled in a concerned smile. She looked like she hadn’t slept much.

“You look like shit.” She said.

“I’ve been informed of this by your brother..." he glanced at the clock above the double doors, “... about four and a half hours ago.”

Faded sunlight streamed through the blinds, rainy Vancouver’s idea of a sunrise. Varric was there, too. Fenris inclined his head towards him as Bethany chuckled and went to see her brother. Varric would go later, letting the siblings have their time. If Hawke was even awake yet.

“You really do look like shit.” Varric sat down beside him while Fenris yawned and rubbed the rubble out of his eyes. “You don’t smell great, either.”

He made a face at the shorter man, scratching at his scalp and seeing flakes of dried blood and ash fall out of his hair. “Pardon me. My apartment burnt down.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Varric smirked, and Fenris returned it. He passed him a Tim Horton’s bag, and the smell of the cheap breakfast egg sandwich was intoxicating. Fenris tore into the bag, finding a hashbrown and a chocolate chip muffin in there, too. 

“You’re a saint.” Fenris muttered, teeth already sinking into the food.

“That would be Hawke, for taking a bullet for you.” Aveline must have shared the story of their struggles. Fenris removed the egg sandwich from his face, eyeing Varric while chewing, worried about judgement even as his own guilt resurfaced. Regardless of Hawke's assurances that the bullet could have been meant for either of them, he had been shot at enough in his life to know where a gun pointed. 

“He’d have taken that bullet for anyone." he tried to counter after swallowing.

“You think?” Varric scratched at the eternal stubble on his chin, “You think he’d risk leaving Bethany all alone unless he was sure it was absolutely worth the risk?”

He had no answer. 

Varric didn’t need one, instead saying, “You two will be staying with me for a bit.”

“You have room?” 

Varric nodded, 

“I’m sure I can find a corner to shove you two into. I’d only need to worry about one bed, after all.”

Fenris coloured intensely, and Varric shoved his stiff shoulder playfully. How did everyone see so clearly what took him months to figure out? 

“Whatever you two need.” Varric promised.

 

All things considered, Hawke’s injuries were not grave. Yes, if left unattended his would have died of blood loss, but the hospital staff acted quickly and had extracted the bullet with skill. Without unforeseen complications, Hawke would make a full recovery.

They kept him in the hospital for observation, just in case. Visitation was limited to allow him rest. He would be allowed to leave the next day. Fenris was persuaded after much prodding and pulling to go with Varric and buy a change of clothes and take a shower. He got to see Varric’ place. The basement suite was spacious enough for three people, if they didn’t mind being cozy.

“Four." he corrected him, pointing to Bianca, the guitar, in the living room. 

The moment Fenris stepped out of the bathroom, freshly clothed and washed, he asked Varric to take him back to the hospital.

“You need sleep. Unless I take you you’re stuck here.”

“I’ll transit.”

“You don’t have any money.” Varric countered. It was the shorter man that had paid for Fenris’ change of clothes. This was not entirely correct. Fenris had a bit of money in the bank from his wages, but it was hardly enough to live on.

“I’ll walk.”

Varric smiled at him, pleased and a bit smug. “I bet you would, too.”

He took him back. 

“How is he?” Fenris demanded of a nurse when one was foolish enough to be seen by him. He was waiting like a tiger, ready to pounce whenever they entered the waiting area. The nurse, a young man, gave him a tired look. 

“He loves puns.” He groaned with pain in his voice. “I told him my title was ‘acute care assistant’, and he asked ‘what do they call the ones that aren’t cute?’” The nurse shook his head and departed. Fenris was smiling like an idiot.

 

Varric did managed to convince Fenris to return with him to sleep in the guest bedroom that night.

 

It wasn’t surprising that nightmares pounced on fears and insecurities. Self-conscious that he had called out during the night, he apologized in the morning. All Varric said was “I knew there was a story with you, broody.”

 

Back at the hospital, Fenris partook in blood tests and was cleared to donate blood. Even though he wasn’t the same type as Hawke, he felt he was perhaps giving someone else the relief he had experienced that night. The possibility for a future. Later he considered how lucky it was that no overt signs of a lifetime of abuse showed up during those tests. Didn’t feel like explaining it.

Varric and Fenris were joined by Aveline. She had a smile that Varric coined the “Kicking ass smile”. She approached, and in the same breathless voice as a mother might tell tales of her children, she shared with them how the two culprits were found and promptly arrested. 

“It’ll be a breeze to indict then,” She said, eyes sparkling, “Their blood is at the scene, their bullet was retrieved and it will match the gun found in their possession.” 

Merrill showed up mid-morning, too, bringing a tray of donuts and a gorgeous woman with a quick smile and quicker pen. Her name was Isabella and she was an investigative journalist. “Sticking it to the man” as she described herself, shaking hands with all present.

“I want to know everything about that night.” She said, brows knitting together in determination, “The city needs to know about the courage and tenacity of its less fortunate communities!" 

They spent a couple of hours with her, telling her about the Kirkwall community and it’s hero, Garrett Hawke. They were interrupted just after they returned from lunch by a raging Anders, accosting the nurse on duty. He relaxed a little when he saw them, allowing the nurse a moment to escape his rampage.

“There you all are!" he threw his hands in the air, smiling but they could see the head of steam building under it. “I can’t believe those monsters!" he exclaimed emphatically, “Poor communities should be protected! The government continues to fail those who rely on it the most!” 

Fenris couldn’t agree, what with the governments of both USA and Canada working together to make him able to live independently, and not just tossing him in a mental institute and throwing away the key. With the exception of his testimony during the trial of the remaining (living) Tevinters, they hadn’t asked for anything in return.

Anders was about to go on a full-blown tirade, then Isabella sashayed up to him and introduced herself, more than happy to jot down his determined opinions and his phone number, while she was at it. Anders was too engrossed in his rant to notice the subtext, despite everyone chuckling and hiding their smirks.

 

Hawke was supported by Bethany when he waddled out from between the swinging doors and into the waiting area, wearing a hospital gown. Bare feet on tile. Fenris had gotten him a change of clothes for later. 

Right now everyone burst into spontaneous applause. Hawke’s smile was nervous, but genuine. 

He didn’t do anything, Fenris thought, except survive.

Except for taking care of an entire community for years, asking nothing in return.

Except that bullet was meant for Fenris’ heart or lungs.

Except that he gave and gave and gave until he was left, literally, without even the clothes on his back. 

Despite the paleness he was beautiful. Despite walking aided, strong. Despite being knocked down, he stood tall. Despite losing everything, here he stood amongst friends.

Fenris walked up to him and Hawke open his other arm, thinking he wanted to help him walk. Instead Fenris placed a firm hand on the crook of the man’s neck and brought their mouths together. 

In front of everybody. 

Hawke, much to his delight, reciprocated in full, warm lips quirking in a smile. Soft heat of a man very much alive. It didn’t mean they hadn’t a tough road ahead of them. Didn’t mean Hawke wasn’t going to go through hell, working through his anxieties. Didn’t mean Fenris was ready for full physical intimacy. But it did mean they were both going to try, side by side, through thick and thin.

Pressing their foreheads together, they couldn’t keep the silly smiles off their faces as their friends laughed, hooted and cheered around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Gallows kiss was amazing, in the game. For Fenris to talk with such possessive terms of Hawke, to kiss him so passionately in front of the entire team... /sigh  
> I love these two so very much.  
> Perhaps I'll come back to this scene later... and add more of the interactions with Isabella. I had never recruited her in my first playthrough (still just at the beginning of my second), so I admit I don't know how to write her!  
> I should also mention this isn't the final chapter! A few more and we're done (for now).


	15. Chapter 15

Ari and Quentin pleaded for a deal, giving up their employer, Meredith Stannard, as the person who had told them to strongarm the owners into selling. The Nestor’s plan was scrapped, and she was going to be tied up in litigation for the foreseeable future, assets frozen. Isabella’s piece about the impoverished community at Kirkwall brought the attention of the mayor, who swore to set aside funds to improve the area. Larger grocery stores vied for the opportunity to be known as the ones that stepped up, and an affordable mainstream _No Frills_ would open within a few of months where the Nestor’s would have gone. It was the first time in generations the community had something new, all of its own.

Hawke and Fenris shared a room in Varric’s apartment, but not a bed. Fenris slept on a matress on the floor while Hawke was given the guest bed.

“You’re healing.” Fenris insisted at his protests. “Believe me, I’ve slept in far worse conditions for far longer.”

It was the closest he has gotten to sharing any particulars of his past with the man, and he couldn’t argue. If he started to argue, Fenris would distract him with kisses. They had the most peculiar effect on Hawke, often stopping whatever feeble protests were on his lips, or ramble he was going on. After each his expression would be so happy, and a bit of that luster would return to those eyes, best suited to carry joy.

 

Hawke physically healed well. His anxiety, however, was such that some days it was hard to convince him to come out of the guestroom, or get out of bed. In his defense, he did have a lot of phonecalls to make; to the bank, his insurance, the provincial government, medical services… Fenris helped when he could, though it wasn’t much.

Aveline returned in the first few days and took a fuller statement from both of them. She was confident Meredith was going to be in a world of hurt.

Hawke had agreed to step out of the guest room, though after his report he apologized and returned.

“What’s up with him?” she wondered, “If he still in a lot of pain?”

“Have you ever seen him go out or do anything social?” Fenris asked, not wanting to simply come out and say it,

“No.”

“There’s a reason.” was all he provided. She seemed to understand. When she got up to leave, Fenris cleared his throat.

“Yes?” She asked.

“I’ve been thinking." he said, shooting Varric a glare before any snide comment could be made. The mock innocence on the man’s face indicated he had such a comment just at the ready. Fenris continued, “But I’d need help for you… if you want to help.”

“Will it help Hawke?” Varric asked. Fenris nodded.

Aveline and Varric exchanged looks, then asked for more information.

 

The next morning Fenris woke up, but he wasn’t on the floor. He was, in fact, in the guest bed. There was a warmth at his back and strong arms surrounding him. He didn’t dare to move, blinking away sleep, mind racing to remember how he had gotten there. He was vaguely aware that he had nightmares last night. The warmth and the comfort kept on trying to lull him to sleep, but the situation was so unexpected he forced himself to wake up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head to look.

Hawke was awake, smiling at him widely. The scar smiled at him, as well.

“Morning.” Hawke said, the breath tickling Fenris’ ear in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. It sent a shiver through him. He hoped Hawke hadn’t noticed.

“Muh… morning." he mumbled, confused and embarrassed. “How did I get here?"

“You climbed onto the bed in the middle of the night.” Hawke was gracious enough to explain.

Now fleeting memories crawled back. He had a nightmare. He hadn’t been fully awake when he had sat up. An arm had slithered off the bed, trying to find his to provide some comfort. Fenris had grasped it, and the next natural thing to do was to climb onto the bed and into warmth, safety and sound sleep. He blushed a deep crimson, covering his face with his hands.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“You _did!_ ” Hawke’s giddy delight was clear, and a chaste kiss was planted on Fenris’ earlobe. Fenris curled into an embarrassed ball, and Hawke clutched him closer to his chest, like a big teddy bear, though he was careful with the still healing burns and cracked ribs. He rubbed his cheek against his hair, purring contentedly.

“You’re so huggable." he grinned.

“I’ll start wearing spikes.” Fenris threatened petulantly, making only a token effort to disentangle himself from the larger man. This, he didn’t mind. They were both clothed (Thank god Hawke started sleeping clothed while living in Varric’s home), and Fenris had no experience, negative or positive, that involved him being protectively hugged (he was loath to use the use cuddled) or comforted when he had nightmares. This was new territory, and so far triggered no awful memories.

“If you want, we can never talk about this again.” Hawke made no motion to let him go. Continued, “Although, juts for the record I don’t mind this at all. You’re adorable when you’re sleeping and I- ow.”

Fenris had dug his elbow into the man’s ribs. Not the injured side, of course.

“You’re doing the whole ‘ _let’s never talk about this again hey let’s talk about this_ ’ thing.”

Hawke chuckled into the crook of his neck, and again the sensation was unlike anything. A dry, comfortable warmth.

Fenris was tempted to stay in this comfort for a long time, perhaps return to napping, but…

“I need to pee." he muttered irritably, throwing his weight to sit up. He was met with resistance.

“Oh, no! I seem to have fallen asleep again.” Hawke woodenly said, his eyes closed even as his smile stayed.

“Hawke.”

“I’m so very asleep!" he said, keeping arms around the man’s waist. Fenris could have pinched, or punched, or pulled, or pushed. Rejecting all those, he leaned in. Perhaps Hawke was expecting a kiss, but he certainly wasn’t expecting a tongue in his ear. He yelped and flailed, and Fenris threw his legs off the bed and was standing while the man was wiping at his ear with his sleeve.

“That’s cruel, man.”

“I’m sorry if you found it _ear-_ ritating.” Fenris said. Hawke’s laughter rang out, like that well-used cello Fenris loved so much. He must have never dreamt of a day when Fenris would initiate puns freely. Willingly.

“It’s my fault, really," he admitted mischievously, “I was being _ear_ -responsible.”

“You admit it? That’s strange. _Ear_ ie, even." he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Feeling daring, he leaned down to plant an affectionate kiss on the man’s bearded cheek. Hawke brought a hand over to try and pin Fenris for more kisses, but the slighter man was agile and ducked away to the bathroom.

 

He returned later with a cup of tea, and Hawke whined that he wanted one, too.

“How about a big glass of get-up-and-get-it-yourself?" he countered, putting on a show of indifference. He needed Hawke to step out of the room more often, or at least out of bed. Hawke whined loudly,

“I can’t. If I let the warmth out from under the blanket I’d be contributing to global warming. You don’t want that, do you?”

The corner of Fenris’ mouth quirked up, despite his best efforts.

“Also, I’ve been shot.” Hawke explained in a reasonable tone. He pushed the blanket down to his waist and lifted his pajama shirt to expose the bandage. It was a square now, no longer needing to be wrapped around his entire abdomen, “Right here. See?" he pointed at it, arching his back a little to show. “See? See?”

Fenris sighed, long suffering, and gave him the tea he hadn’t even sipped from yet. He left to make himself another cup.

“Is he alright?” Varric asked, sitting in the kitchen with the morning newspaper and a cup of coffee.

“He’s a giant baby.”

“You gave him your tea, didn’t you." the amusement was clear.

“His face is stupid.” Was the only reply he could counter with. Varric laughed.

“You’re madly in love with him, aren’t you.” again, it was a statement, not a question.

“Mad is right.” Fenris leaned heavily on the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil again.

“You think he’s getting any better?” Varric tried to keep the worry out of his voice, failed somewhat. Fenris sighed. It was all laughs and jokes, but the man was still nearly bedridden with anxiety. It made Fenris think of his own journey, and how far he had come, how far he had yet to go. He was fortunate enough to have help, only paid for by a lifetime of cruelty and abuse. Hawke couldn’t afford the help he needed. After the long pause where Fenris couldn’t answer, Varric nodded and returned to his paper. He sipped his coffee, and nonchalantly started,

“Say…”

“Yes?”

“Was there sweeping involved, with you two?”

Fenris stilled, still leaning on the counter. “Sweeping?”

“You know, _sweeping_.” Varric clarified nothing at all, “I assume Hawke did all the sweeping. He’s taller than you. Awkward otherwise.”

“Sweeping.” Fenris thought about that dance, or the stick fight. He thought about hauling the larger man over his shoulder during the fire. Thought about being swept up in his life, engulfed so quickly in his kindness and trust you’d think it was quicksand.

“Sweeping. Was there any? It’s for a new song.”

Fenris felt he could answer confidently,

“Yes. There was a lot of sweeping, but I was doing the bulk of it.”

Varric’s brows shot up,

“Really? Can you give me details?”

“Yes.” Fenris turned to look at him, smirking, “The floors were never cleaner.”

It took a moment for Varric to understand the wordplay, and he growled a laugh, throwing a crumpled napkin at him for the joke.

“Frankly, broody,” Varric said, “I don’t know you well enough to say that I trust you with Hawke’s heart.” Fenris frowned, about to protest, but the shorter man lifted his hand, he wasn’t finished, “But firstly, whomever Hawke sees is none of my business." he took a sip of coffee, “Secondly, you… he’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he’s with you.”

This send a flight of nervous birds flying in Fenris’ chest. He had never had that effect on anyone.

Knew that if he thought about it too deeply he would feel unworthy, or that it couldn't be real, so he didn't dwell on it. Tried to focus on the now, like his therapist had taught him. Take what is presented, embrace the mundane. Happiness sometimes felt like an achievable goal. Sometimes, like today.

 

Anders came to visit later that day, bringing a basket of treats wrapped in cellophane. They chatted and exchanged ideas regarding their secret endeavor. Everyone was roped in, but they paused when they heard Hawke's agitated voice, talking on his cellphone in the guest room. Fenris checked, returned with a frown. 

"The insurance company is refusing to open an investigation. Said he was at fault. Something about waiting to call them."

Anders' eyes lit up, and Fenris suspected the man thrived fighting the obstinance of bureaucracy. 

"Let me." he said briskly, getting up. There was a confused exclamation from Hawke, then Anders appeared, having taken the phone from the man.

"No, you listen to me." he demanded of the clerk on the other end of the line. "And you listen well. Do you have a house?!" His voice was propelled by his anger into a commanding bellow, "Imagine it had burned down. Imagine the pain of all those lost memories. Imagine the pain of the lengthy lawsuit I'm preparing to shove up your ass."

There was a pause as he listened to the other end, then he said, "I'm his lawyer, that's who! You continue with this attitude and you're going to know  _ exactly  _ what kind of lawyer I am. I’m the kind who, when I’m done with you, you’ll know exactly what it feels like to lose a home."

Hawke had followed Anders out of the guest room, looking bewildered at the offered service. 

"Yes, having your manager call me would be preferable. I'd rather talk to someone who is actually  _ capable _ ."

He gave his phone number and snapped the flip phone shut with more force that was strictly necessary. He passed it back to Hawke.

"I can't afford you." Hawke said, still gaping.

Anders' smile was confident, pleased. Like a cat knowing where the mice's lawyers' lived. "No, you can't, but I'm sure the city will be more than happy to donate my time. I'll see to it."

"Thank you." he hugged Anders, and the latter returned it. Fenris tried to recall if he himself had ever returned one of Hawke's hugs. Couldn't think of any instances. A pang of shame, or maybe envy, shot through him. 

When they parted, Hawke smiled, clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly,

"How about I cook lunch?" he offered. 

He managed to stay out of the guest room until after they had all eaten, but returned to it after, claiming he was "Still quite tired."

Still, it was the longest he had been out of the room in several days.

 

That night Fenris woke up in the dark. It wasn’t new, or unusual. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night and just couldn’t go back to sleep. Sometimes nightmares woke him without the screams, just a start. Sometimes Hawke snored and sometimes that woke him. He wasn’t sure which of the above it was, but the sound of Hawke’s steady breathing was noticeable by its absence. Carefully, Fenris sat up. This allowed him to see the top of the bed. Hawke was on it, curled into a ball, shivering. A glance at the digital clock indicated it was just past midnight, only a few hours after they had gone to sleep.

“Hawke?" he tried, gently, mouth slurring words from sleepiness.

The man flinched. Looked over his shoulder at Fenris. 

“Oh, hi." he said casually. “Did I wake you?" there was a strain in his voice. It shook, just as his body shook.

Fenris climbed unto the double bed, resting his body close to Hawke’s. The man curled into a tighter ball.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris placed a hand on his back. He didn’t feel overly warm or cold. It wasn’t a fever. Fenris knew it wasn’t going to be a fever. Almost hoped for one, anyway.

“Nothing!" he squeaked. “I know I’m safe and that tomorrow morning I’ll feel better. I know this." he spoke quicker than usual. “I know this. I’m safe here. It’s just a bedroom. What does it matter that it’s not my bedroom? It doesn’t matter.”

Fenris heard all the unsaid “and yet”. He wondered how many times, over the last few nights, Hawke had suffered silently like this. 

“Go back to sleep. I’m ok.” Was the colossally unconvincing assurance. Sighing, Fenris made himself comfortable, effectively being the big spoon, as small as he was. He just stayed there, hoping that in some small way he could provide any comfort. 

“You stepped into that bullet.” Fenris heard his own voice speak, didn’t stop it, let the words flow, his fingers idly in Hawke’s hair, playing with it and running his fingers hand through it. Hawke was very still, then turned to meet Fenris’ eyes.

“Sorry.”

“How very Canadian of you." he chuckled, running fingers through his hair. “Apologizing for saving my life.”

“I apologize for apologizing.”

There was a long moment of silence. It took Fenris some courage to ask,

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“About that bullet? I barely knew it. It was a bit of a one-night stand. Can’t say I’m too torn up about never seeing it again.”

Pursing his lips, Fenris tugged at the man’s hair gently as punishment. Hawke chuckled softly, still curled up into a ball. He continued running fingers through his dark hair, not wanting to push the topic further. The shaking had subsided some, at least. Another stretch of silence, and Fenris nearly dozed off when Hawke spoke again.

“I’m not doing too well." he admitted in a small voice. The voice was tiny, but the admission wasn’t.

Fenris could say nothing for a few moments, he found he was actually holding his breath and released it slowly.

“If I could afford it, maybe… you know…”

“I can ask Cole, the guy who helped me. If you want.”

Hawke glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. “Maybe. Maybe sometime soon.”

Fenris curled up beside him, finally returning all those hugs he hadn’t reciprocated. 

After a while Hawke’s breathing steadied, and soon after Fenris fell asleep too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some domestic fluff, underlined by Hawke's anxiety. The story will head towards conclusion next chapter, with chapter 17 being the last (for now-- as I mentioned before, and will remind again later, I might come back to this AU with one-shots and whatnot!).


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter.

A week passed quickly. The wound was healing admirably, Hawke being a healthy and strong man. Fenris found himself out of the house at intervals during the week, and he asked Varric to keep an eye on the man while he was away. He felt a little bad, hiding his true reasons from the man, but hoped that it was all going to be worth it.

"Hawke." Fenris said one morning, knowing better now than to enter the room in the morning with anything less than two cups of tea, "We're going out today."

Hawke's expression flashed fear, but he dared to ask,

"Just for fun?"

"Today is the informational seminar about the new grocery store." he deposited the tea on the bedside table, easier now with the mattress being gone from the floor. They shared a bed now, though clothes were still mandatory. The novelty of waking up beside someone was not quickly diminished. Sure, he had once or twice in the past week elbowed Hawke (once in the ribs, once in the face) in his sleep, but the larger man took it with little more than a grunt, and in the morning he was chuckling. Fenris stepped down hard on his guilt.

Hawke took the tea with a thanks and sipped.

"Could you go and tell me how it is?"

"You should come, too." Fenris insisted, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Cole had recommended it, so he had to put his faith in that. "You should see that someone is taking care of your community." For long moments Hawke just sipped in silence. Fenris added, "We'll come back right away if you don't feel well."

"There's nowhere to come back to." Hawke muttered into his Earl Grey.

"The only way to get anywhere is to put one foot in front of the other. The world will take care of the rest."

Considering this, Hawke countered, "You can walk all you want, but if you're walking in circles you'll get nowhere."

"Isn't the fault with you, however, for choosing to continue that pattern?"

Stumped, Hawke's face split into a smile. "I guess sometimes you need someone to show you how to change."

Fenris leaned down to give the man a kiss, tasting the honey he added to his tea on his lips, "Sometimes just walking in tandem is enough to change both your paths."

 

Hawke had managed less than half of the seminar before he made a strangled noise at Fenris and they departed quietly, while serious business people spoke of serious changes. They had received the information packet and glanced at it in the back of Varric's car, as he drove them home. Fenris kept talking, mostly hoping to distract Hawke from his anxieties. It looked promising. The No Frills would be the cheapest option for a large area, bringing more traffic to the street from other poor pockets of the city. The Carta, now in the searchlights of the police, had gone underground. They would have a much harder time operating in the city, what with mega-corps having a vested interest keeping them away. The ruins of the old store had been torn down by bulldozers the other day, Merrill had reported. Fenris kept the news to himself. He ventured to ask if there was a chance to look through the debris (hoping against hope to find that picture) but the area was deemed too dangerous. Still, the idea that someone with far more resources was going to be providing for Kirkwall street had a visible positive effect on Hawke. He cared more about that community than he did himself, at times.

Bethany visited over the weekend, bringing so many treats it took all of them all day to finish them. Fenris partook little, remembering what chocolate had done to him. He found a fondness for muffins that had gone previously undiscovered, and attributed it to the relief he had felt that morning, waking up to a possibility of a future with Hawke. He wondered if he could ever eat a muffin without thinking of that day.

 

After another week, Hawke started to vocalize his shame at taking advantage of Varric's generosity for so long. They hadn't a penny to their name, and couldn't afford to help pay for the food they ate, let alone rent or utilities.

Varric joked that for all the free things Hawke had given him over the years, they could stay at his place for six months. Still, Varric's performances were steady, but not profitable enough to feed three (four, if you counted Bianca's voracious appetite for new strings) for a length of time.

It was on the third week, Hawke able to walk around for longer and sleep on the injured side, that the last piece of the plot fell into place. Many favours had to be exchanged, and many hours of work put in, but Fenris was proud of the results. He had spent as much time as was needed on this under the guise of "going on errands for Varric" or “looking for work”.

So, that day, Fenris entered the guest room to find Hawke typing on his phone.

"Hawke." he started, heart pounding, though trying to come off nonchalant, "We're going out today."

"Another informational seminar?" the other man wondered, tilting his head towards Fenris, though it took the eyes longer to follow as he finished a text. Probably to Bethany.

"No. This is something else."

Hawke waited for a response. There was none. Fenris shifted his weight.

"Oh?" the man asked, brows rising in surprise, "Is it a secret?"

Fenris nodded. Hawke's smile was nervous. "Can you bring it here?"

"It's not that kind of surprise."

Hawke looked away, embarrassed, "I don't want to ruin the day by leaving halfway, or freaking out..."

"Hawke," he enjoyed saying the man's name. It felt like an arrow, starting soft and ending hard. He flushed when he thought about it, shook his head to continue,

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” Was the immediate reply. Fenris swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Then come with me. If you don’t feel well we’ll come back.”

 

It wasn’t easy, getting Hawke to come out. It wasn’t that he complained or expressed anxiousness, it’s that he did quite the opposite. His fists working at his sides the only indication of any distress, other than the occasional tight smile.

They said little on the way, sitting in Varric’s car. Eventually Hawke’s head, up until now leaning against the window of the back seat passenger side, lifted and he frowned.

“We’re heading towards Kirkwall street." he observed, his voice low and cautious.

Fenris’ heart was beating hard in his chest, suddenly entirely unsure any of this was a good idea. Perhaps he was going to make things so much worse? What if he damaged something irreparable?

“Yes." he replied, exchanging a look with Varric, who raised his brows in a ‘here goes nothing’ way before turning into the far end of the street, the block away from where the store had been, now no more than a pile of rubble.

“We’re here." he announced, and they all disembarked from the car. This part of Kirkwall street was similar to the other end. The immigrant shops, the cobblestone street, the trees bursting from their confines. A couple of stores lay empty, like they always had. A small park sat across the corner, and just past that intersection it was no longer Kirkwall street.

Anders, Aveline, Merrill and even Bethany were all there, milling about and approaching as they arrived.

There was an anxious tension in the air, and after a long moment where Hawke just looked around from person to person, noting their nervous glances, Fenris finally cleared his throat and said.

“Look up.”

Hawke did.

The awning of one of the two empty stores they were standing beside was just recently replaced. It was bright red, with clear white letters on it, proclaiming,

 

“ _Champion of Kirkwall”_

 

Then underneath it said _“Eatery_ ”.

Hawke was stunned. He peered into the store through clear new glass. There was a counter, and a display cabinet so heavy with potential sandwiches and treats they nearly materialized from sheer will. An empty area where dining tables could stand in pairs or quads. One corner had a small raised stage. A door led to a kitchen and another door open enough to reveal stairs up, presumably to a living area on the second floor.

“It wasn’t just me," Fenris smiled nervously, gesturing at the assembled folk, “Pretty much everyone here helped--”

“I got the city to donated this old building!” Anders interjected excitedly, Fenris frowned at him. Merrill chirped in an excited, “They read all the articles and felt they should help!”

“That’s wording it strongly.” Anders smirked at her, “They were made to see that it was in their best interest.”

“The place was owned by an American who had died some years ago and the estate was a mess.” Aveline approached and gave Fenris and Hawke a warm smile, “It wasn’t technically for sale, nor was it the city’s to give away.”

“Anso helped clear all that.” Fenris admitted.

“And I helped find the contractors to repair it!” Bethany exclaimed, “It still needs a lot of work and furniture and whatnot, but that’s what the insurance money is for, right?” She punched Fenris playfully in the shoulder, and he winced at old injuries still under his shirt. “Fenfen here did a lot of the work himself, so the reno cost less!”

“ _Fenfen?!_ ” disgust curled his lip, and Bethany just laughed.

“The title was Varric’s suggestion.” Fenris carried on, hoping Hawke would comment or react or anything, his heart hammering with nerves. The man’s expression was blank astonishment, mouth agape. “You _are_ the champion of this community.”

Varric gave a noncommittal shrug, “The title of a store needs to be like the first line of a song-- it needs to draw you in.”

Hawke hadn’t yet said a word, just stared long moments at Fenris.

Slowly his gaze met each in turn. Then, finally, his face turned again to the awning, and he spent almost a full minute just looking at it. Maple eyes taking in each letter, staying on each as though trying to commit to memory every speck of dust or drop of dew on the red fabric.

Fenris was shifting his weight from foot to foot the whole time, fear and worry rising in his chest. Was this like trying to replace a lost pet with a new one? Was Hawke serious when he said he wanted to open an eatery? Had the choice to keep it on Kirkwall street the right one? What if he had screwed this up?

“This…” Hawke said, his voice barely above a whispered. He met Fenris’ gaze again, “This…”

this time his voice broke and he sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands as tears came in soft gasps out of him. Fenris was immediately at his side, terrified that he had colossally messed this up, but when he touched Hawke’s shoulder, the man looked up, and the smile on his tear-stained face was grateful and happy and heartbreaking all in one. The others crowded closer, worried, but he hiccupped a laugh and told them,

“I’m ok. I’m ok.” he looked at them, cheeks still wet, and choked out a, “Thank you. All of you.”

 

Despite Merrill’s protests that she wanted to see the inside of the place, Fenris and Hawke took the first tour alone. Hawke had calmed down some, though the smile was glued to his face.

There weren’t any furnishings yet, but the kitchen was renovated to meet safety and sanitation codes. It wasn’t large, but it was plenty to work with. The second story was just as sparse, but it was a homey two-bedroom apartment with a real balcony and a dining room area that could hold a table to host all their friends. The walls throughout were repainted a honey-colour, and Fenris himself had done the bulk of that work. The flooring was done by professionals, as well as the kitchen.

Hawke had been very quiet the whole time, listening to Fenris’ explanations and scanning the house. His hands were shaking, so Fenris braved slipping a hand into his. Hawke startled, met his eyes and the smile grew. He squeeze at the hand.

“How… How do you like it?” Fenris finally ventured, clearing his throat after as his voice came out husky.

“I love it.” Hawke replied gently, genuine and peaceful “I love it. It’s a home. It’s…" he swallowed with difficulty, “...Our home?”

Tugging at the hand he pulled Hawke into the master bedroom. It was bare, not even a curtain rod above the window, but there were two things in the center of one wall.

They were both pictures.

This first was a smaller print of the family picture that was lost in the fire. Bethany, of course, had the picture scanned years ago, though not at the highest resolution. It wasn’t the original, but there were the smiling faces of those once lost.

The other picture, standing proud underneath the first, was the three of them. The one taken that day when Bethany had visited.

He turned to Hawke and answered that question.

“I am yours.” Husky, deeper than intended. As deep and as sincere as the feelings that sprung those words.

Hawke was staring at him, awe and wonder on his face, and such unconcealed affection that Fenris’ lips were on his before his brain had time to process. The last few weeks were full of chaste kisses, warm touches, shy smiles. There was nothing of that in this kiss. Need and trust and a want drove both of them, hands restless, searching each other as though another spot might be able to bring them impossibly closer than their pressed bodies already were. The taste of each other, warm lips soft and more than willing to give. Gasping breaths and fingers tangled in hair. Mouths exploring each other hungrily until stumbling legs caused Fenris’ back to hit a wall. Hawke drew back, as startled as his partner.

“Sorry…" he breathed, chest rising and falling from quickened breath. Fenris only chuckled, lowering his head to give himself a couple of moments of breath. Hawke wrapped his arms around him, calming both of them down. After long moments Hawke drew back enough to press his nose to Fenris’, a silent question in warm brown eyes.

“I’ll let you know if I need a moment.” Fenris assured, then yelped when Hawke’s large fingers kneaded a butt cheek. Hawke drew back, toothy and unapologetic smile plastered on his face. Narrowing his eyes even as a smile crept onto his own face, Fenris grabbed Hawke’s arm, using precise arm-locks to prevent the larger man from moving, pinning him against the wall. Then he cruelly stuck his tongue in the immobile man’s ear and wiggled it around in the least sexy way he could imagine. Hawke was shouting and laughing and trying to buck him off uselessly. After another moment he let him go, and Hawke was chuckling and rubbing at his ear with his sleeve.

“You got me… You got me...” Hawke laughed. His eyes shone with such… _emotion_ , that Fenris’ throat found itself tightening. Never had anyone looked at him like that. It was… addicting. The emotion had a name, but he wasn’t brave enough yet to name it.

“Thank you.” Hawke said, feeling thickening his voice, and his eyes were moist again. “Thank you.” He certainly wasn’t referring to the teasing.

Fenris had to look away, shuffle his feet and swallow the lump in his throat. Hands on his wrists and he looked up. Hawke’s smile was devastatingly charming, and he drew him into a sensual, long and wholeheartedly romantic kiss.

Fenris had to break it near the point of his knees going weak. The swell of emotions threatening to overpower him again, threatening to take him down dark roads. Hawke said nothing, leaning his forehead against his.

“I’m sorry.” Fenris said.

“It’s alright." the larger man smiled, “We’re both healing. We’re both moving forward. It’ll take the time it’ll take.”

“Together?” Fenris looked up into those pools of maple.

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading thus far! Only one chapter left. I'll post it over the weekend.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short story to finish all this off. <3

Fenris was still working on the last of the new IKEA guest tables. They had bought a few, and quickly realized they wouldn’t be enough. Too many people, not enough seats. So there Fenris was, building half a dozen more to fill out the seating space of the eatery. The cabinet’s wish was granted and sandwiches, muffins and salads gleamed behind it’s glass. In the kitchen two types of soup were boiling away, one of them on the third pot already.

It was Friday, and the soup and sandwich combo was as popular as ever. Varric’s voice filled the space. A raspy, warm sound filled with untold stories. 

 

_ “When push comes to shove, _

_ It’s been like this a while, _

_ When you think of someone you love, _

_ You can’t help but smile.” _

 

Fenris grinned from his spot under the table, working the alan key to tighten the surface of the table to the legs. He called that one ‘his line’ and Varric noted that he had been the one to actually say it. Fenris didn’t care, and claimed the line as his own. 

Spring in Vancouver was truly beautiful, as Hawke had promised, sunlight painting the city in pinks and blues and greens. The trees along the sidewalk silently agreed to burst forth with new leaves at the same time.

At first, Hawke had wanted to have free soup days, and Fenris insisted on the revolutionary idea of actually charging what things are worth. They went back and forth on this until they agreed that on Fridays they’ll sell the soup and sandwich combo for the absolutely bare minimum, but during the week they would charge slightly more. Also, before closing excess food would be given for pretty much nothing at all, rather than let it spoil. Overall, charging just enough so that should they have a weak month or two, they won’t go bankrupt. Fenris was in charge of the books and prices, as Hawke couldn’t navigate his wallet out of bankruptcy if his life depended on it, as was proven. They were even started paying off the debts from the old store. 

Fenris got out from under the table carefully, but still managed to bump his head on the edge. He straightened his apron. Cream coloured cloth with a large letter C on it and the symbol of the store. It had been a gift from Hawke on the first day they opened. The first gift Fenris had ever received. A gift just because Hawke wanted to give it. Despite his earlier protests, it had quickly become a prized possession. Hawke had one of his own, currently hanging on a peg in the kitchen. In order to officially take possession of the place they had needed to sign some paperwork, and with Hawke’s finances in such disarray, a co-signatory was needed. Hawke’s smile when Fenris signed his large letter F by his own name was radiant. 

Co-owners. Business partners. No more worry about employer and employee. Equals. Equals in all things.

Merrill chuckled at him as he approached her. She was sipping tea at one of the tables he had just finished constructing. A few other regulars milled about, with new and casual customers occupying other tables. He made a show of grabbing a rag to clean her table, since she had spilled two whole drops onto the pristine surface. He exaggerated a sigh, long-suffering. She giggled.

“You missed a spot.” She pointed. He glared. She giggled again. She had been sticking around to study for her journalism course, so he got to know her a little bit better. Didn’t mind her as much.

“Would you be a dear and get me a bowl of that heavenly mushroom soup?” She put a toonie on the table and he took it and headed towards the counter. Anders was waiting at the till, and when Fenris poured him a cup of soup as well, he complimented it most enthusiastically. He still eyed Fenris suspiciously from time to time, still not entirely certain what he brought to the table, but they had arrived at a tolerable understanding. Live and let live. Without Fenris’ connections Anders wouldn’t have managed to sweet talk the city into donating the building. And Anders new it was Fenris who had put in the hours to paint and clear in order to save costs. Both were instrumental in bringing this about. That was good enough. Fenris brought Marrill her mushroom soup. 

Hawke was upstairs, like he was most days. The regulars understood. Fenris ran the store, and Hawke prepared the food when it needed to be prepared. It would take time for him to be able to stand proudly behind the counter. It would take time for the house to become a home. There was no doubt the day would come. Fenris had secretly hoped for a miraculous recovery, borne from the power of love and a new start, but accepted that reality had other plans.

 

Eventually the day drew to a close, and the soup was running out. Hawke would usually come down to help with closing, and he was behind the counter, helping the last customers.

By the end of the first month the stream of people had slowed down. Many had originally come to the place after hearing about their ordeals in the news. Some had become regulars, while others just wanted to see the place. Still, even after the initial buzz calmed down they were going to be alright. They could put money aside for repairs, for taxes, for maybe a vacation in the future. They could put aside money for their own health, which was critical.

Speaking of which, the door opened right on time and a young man entered. His appearance lent itself more to being described as ‘scarecrow’ than ‘young professional, which he was. 

“Cole.” Fenris approached him and they shook hands warmly. Hawke was just finishing Windexing the outside of the cabinet to a shine. 

“Hey, Cole.” He greeted him, the same nervousness in his voice as ever. When Fenris had asked him why Cole unnerved him, he couldn’t explain it. “Something in the eyes” he had muttered.

Varric was gathering his earnings, far less humble than they used to be in Hawke’s old store. Before, it was the community that came over for Soup Fridays. With the news of a new eatery opening, their clientele expanded to anyone in the greater Vancouver area. 

“You never did answer me,” Fenris addressed Cole, a small smile on his lips, “why you chose to move to the city.” 

Cole looked around, eyes meeting Varric’s briefly. He glanced at Anders, then momentarily at Merrill. He looked at Hawke and then at Fenris before him. 

“There’s a lot of good I can do here." he said, adjusting his hat. Today it was a fez. Each day he wore a different hat. His only reply if asked why was “I like hats.” 

Fenris understood what Hawke meant about the boy’s strange look, but had known Cole for long enough to not mind his quiet intensity. 

When Hawke was done, him and Cole took the stairs up for their weekly session. Fenris had no problem closing up shop, holding the door open to let the last customers out. Anders shuffled past him, Marrill close behind. She asked Anders how things were going with Isabella, to which the man blushed a deep crimson. 

“Justice doesn’t like her.” he admitted as they retreated into the cool evening. A man headed out, to be picked up by Aveline. She met Fenris’ gaze and waved from the driver’s seat. The man, officer Donnic, climbed in and they drove off. 

Lastly, Varric donned his fedora and shouldered Bianca. He dallied at the door, looking up at Fenris.

“So, broody.” he grinned, “How are things?”

Fenris answered with confidence,

“Things are good, Varric.” He took a deep breath, smiling as he thought of Hawke, “Things are good.”

The shorter man left, and Fenris closed and locked the door. With that smile still on his lips, he flipped the sign from “Come In! We’re Open!” to “We’re Closed, Please Come Again.”

  
The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! holy crap. I've put a lot of myself into this story. I hope you've enjoyed the story and the journey these two have taken together. I wanted to thank Raineishida for lighting the flame of my DA2 love, and for being one of the most supporting, positive people I've ever had the honour to call a friend.  
> Also thanking SuWol for being awesome and leaving the type of comments that every author wants to read! <3  
> Thanks to all others who left reviews, too! I try my best to answer reviews, so if you ever have any questions, feel free to ask!
> 
> _**Prompts for this AU are open!**_ The fantastic suggestion was made of accepting prompts for this AU of mine, so please feel free to suggest! I don't promise to fill all of them, and I can't promise to fill those I do want to quickly, but inspire me and I'll probably write it! The prompts will be collected in a separate work (in the same, Kirkwall Street, series), but I'll answer in the comment when they're posted, so you'll know! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed. <3  
> Ever yours,  
> ~LunarBlade.


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